The Gravedigger 2: One True King
by Kamagua
Summary: At long last, the Frozen Throne is no more. With its fall, I find myself back where I belong - back home once again. How little these plagued lands differ, yet I can feel change coming. At least that is what I hope. Alas, no matter how hard I try to forget, I cannot escape the chill of the north, the chill of death. It still calls to me. It beckons for its gravedigger.
1. Home

Not even the Lich King could hide from the death he so wildly wielded. It happened so fast – all of it. One giant blur, I can barely remember a thing. The only thing I can piece from the maelstrom of chaos is bloodshed, screams and cries of terror, and an unrelenting chill that burrowed to my bones. Even now, as I gaze out upon the lake I had almost forgotten, I can feel that icy bite.

I thought coming back here would change that. I hoped, at least, but I know what lingers here. It is where the darkness was born, and it will be quite some time before its vile sting dissipates. At least that is what Nathanos tells me.

He also tells me that the new Light's Hope Chapel is also a blemish that will cure itself, but I don't feel quite the same. Yes, it does feel a tad out of place, but that is simply how a budding plant will seem when place among a rotten till of crops.

A beacon, of sorts – that is what Carlin says. I find myself leaning more towards his view. A bastion of hope is what it is; a new start from a very somber ending. Sounds rather fancy and pleasant, if nothing else.

Now do I believe that? I want to say it matters, but to me, it is all the same. I grew up with the death and decay, so it is nothing new. At the same time, it might be nice to meet some new people. Actually, there is a really nice girl that didn't slap me when I said she was cute.

Red, flowing hair, bright green eyes, and a smile that seemed to rid that wicked chill that haunts these lands. "Jessica" that was her name. Is. I believe she works with Carlin and the other paladins, since she wears thick, plated armor with pretty gray and gold trim. She looks really nice in it. Well, I mean it looks nice on her. No. Wait.

Never mind that, it doesn't matter. She and dozens of others have flocked to the Chapel, doing whatever it is you do after a war terminates your employment. Pretty much the same thing I do, I guess. I only wish the work was different.

At the same time, something is unique about this all. The unusual sensation pops up if only in my head and then it is gone. There are times I feel like I have it figured out, but it vanishes, as if it literally slips from my mind. I'll figure it out. I -

As if on cue, the sounds of footsteps flutter upon my ears. At first, they crunch against crinkling and decaying grass, transforming into soft creaks as they venture upon the aged and wind-worn boards. A brief moment of prolonged, rather eerie silence hangs upon the air.

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._ Softly the door speaks to me. I don't feel like answering it. I mean, I really don't feel like answering its call. All I have to do is ignore it. Not a hard feat at all.

 _Knock. Knock._ It is louder, almost frustrated now. Whatever the door wants, it truly desires it. Unfortunately, I am not in the mood. It is simply going to have to come back later – in a few months or so.

 _Knockknockknockknock,_ this door almost seems angry now. What in the world.

 _Knock, knock, crack, snack…_

"Damn you, Worm!" Light chases the shadow of a faceless man, "you know I hate knocking! Someone of my standard does not knock. Doors swing open in my presence. If they don't, I open them with my foot. Got it?"

"I-"

"Shut up, Worm." In a blur, the man draped in dark green – it looks black to me, but he really likes to push the issue when I try to correct him – startles the calm air, ripping me to my feet before I can even draw a breath. "We have work to do."

"But-"

"No," he gently smacks the top of my head, "bad, Worm. Bad."

"Eh-"

"Not a word out of you, Worm," the comfort of my home is lost to me, drowned in the dark light of the sky and draped in the lingering frost of these fields, "there is another detachment moving from Stratholme. It would seem that the thick-headed Rivendare doesn't quite understand how to stay dead. Or that he is defeated."

Grass quickly fades from beneath my feet. Sounds of crackling gravel fill my ears – if but a whisper beneath the ramblings of a faceless man. "That is the problem with Rivendares: they are tall dwarves. Don't get me wrong, I do quite enjoy the company of a dwarf, a bar, a few pints of ale, and the challenge of attempting to outdrink one of those over-bearded stools, but tall dwarves are an entire different breed."

Over a bridge, past a few house casings with the builders eagerly eying our every movement, and a handful of people passing by, down the unknown course we go, rambling all the way. "Tall dwarves are stubborn, stupid, stubborn, and extra stupid. Not only that, they cannot even hold their booze. A complete mockery of the dwarven people."

Nathanos abruptly stops, "Don't you dare tell the Lady I spoke highly of dwarves, Worm. Do you understand me?" His finger points into my soul. His gaze burns into it.

"OK…"

"Good," back on our trail, "remember, if you do, I'll cut a meter from your intestinal track. Understand?"

"Sounds bad…"

"That is all you need then," only crunching gravel fills my ears, "ah yes, stupid people." And it vanishes. "Rivendares are as dense and dumb as they come, Worm. You kill their parents, their sons, their grandsons, their entire damn line, and you know what they do? "

"I-"

"You don't answer that type of question, Worm. It is rhetorical. Meaning: if you answer it, I kill you. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Fantastic." Gravel crunching. "See that smoke, Worm? That is the smoke still blooming from the charred remains of Stratholme. Another stupid human burnt it down, so the only logical thing to do was place a stupid family line in charge of the ashes. So comes in the major malfunction with the Rivendares: they are too damn dense to die and stay dead."

We dart around a sharp bend, darting past a small pass carved through the middle of a quant hill. To my right: a tower looms, a dozen guards are planted around a few makeshift barricades. To my left: a field of rot and decay conjured by the deepest depths of the damned spits rancid filth into the heavens. In between them: a small army of undead.

"See, Worm? Utter stupidity at its finest." Black rain pours from the tower upon the hill, drizzling upon the encroaching soldiers. The undead swarms twist and jerk, collapsing into a deep, perpetual sleep. "If the Rivendares had sense, they would just stay hunkered in their damn fiery fortress. We cannot chase them into them. Not unless we have a damn, dumb Rivendare of our own."

Quickly, the two forces grow. Their sounds beginning to trump even the rambling man's voice. "OK, Worm. It is simple: see the dead things? Revoke their life-licenses. Got it?"

"I think so."

"Good, Worm." The pull of the man vanishes. I nearly trip over my own feet, catching myself. Soft twangs snap at my ears, followed by a gentle humming. From the corner of my eye, I watch as the lone figure spawns a rain cloud of his own. "Going to watch, Worm? That is fine, but I will have to punch you if you make me do all the work."

While that is motivating, I find myself unable to act. Nathanos has always had an odd alluring aspect to his archery art, and I am often devoured by the display; it puts me in a stay of trance. I want to say that is the reason, yet there is something else.

The way the guards hold upon their positions, feverishly fighting against the odd; the way the undead relentlessly slam themselves against the defenses; the screams of battle, the clatter of war – it seems so distant, a continent away.

"Worm," twangs slip in between his words, "it is going to be an extremely hard punch. Right to your spleen."

I sigh heavily. My feet drag heavily across the soft gravel path. It has been quite some time since I ventured this far north. Considering it is maybe a kilometer or two away from my house, that is really saying something. Then again, seeing what it is here, that really doesn't surprise me.

Again I sigh, this time eying the slowly advancing, drearily dressed interlopers. Their armor is dull and faded. Their faces empty and hollow. Lifeless husks among a sea of dead. It seems only fair that I end their suffering.

My shovel rises effortlessly. A finely curved tip aligns upon the masses. I take a deep breath. Lights flicker across the shaft. I scan the ranks. Runes glimmer upon the metallic face. I exhale. Flash: a burst of light consumes all: the air before me, the ground, the horde of husks, everything is lost in the wake of the light.

With a single flash, the world plunges into an intense stillness. I take one more breath, fidgeting as I embrace the new, unusual sensation once more. I can feel it, down to my very soul. I am so close to figuring out what it is, but this damnable silence is deafening. Not to mention I can feel the hairs on my neck draw to their ends.

Nathanos' gaze pierces down to my soul. The broken bodies gawk back in disbelief. From upon the hill, dozens of dumbstruck eyes stare at me. As they look at me, I cannot help but smile. It would seem that even the mighty paladins have not witnessed the power of the light. Good thing a gravedigger is here to embolden the enlightened.


	2. Sworn Duty

Killing the undead seems like a justified means of living, yet I simply do not find the same joy from it as the emotionless man next to me. By doing it, If nothing else, I averted being punched.

"Good job, Worm," Nathanos snorts with a rather neutral tone, "but I would recommend aiming a little higher next time. Solid hit, but it wasn't perfect. An admirable attempt, at least. Don't let it happen again."

That is actually quite some praise coming from him. I think. As long as he didn't punch me.

"Well, looks like we are done here." He pauses briefly, surveying the mounds of gray corpses. With a gentle nod and a soft inhale, he affirms himself and continues, "Yes indeed, I did a fine job of re-killing some people. Not every day that you can say you murdered some skeletons. Ah, and you helped, Worm."

He turns from the sight, shifting at a sloth's pace – slow for him, anyway. It almost feels like a slight jog for me, but I cannot complain. We head back down the road we came, taking in the sights we missed on our first route. Everything seems the same as before; except for one added note: the silence.

Quite the treat now, to be honest. As much as I like listening to Nathanos rambling, it can get rather bothersome at times. Sure as hell won't ever tell the man that, but it is the truth. It is –

"Shut up, Worm," pain ripples across the back of my head. I immediately grip at the site of impact.

"What was that for, Nathanos?" I grunt, rubbing at where he smacked me. Curse those boney instruments of torment.

"You think too loud, Worm."

"What?"

"I could see it in your eyes."

"See what? My happiness?"

"Yes."

"So you had to smack me?"

"Yes. Not so much because you were happy, though, but because why you were happy."

"What…?"

"Worm, you are like an open book – a pop-up book, with lots of pretty colors. It is very easy to see what you are feeling, and from the way you were gazing into nothingness, smiling, occasionally glancing at me, it was clear you were happy. Why? Because I wasn't talking. And that, Worm, is insulting."

"I-What? I don't –"

"Don't try to deny it, Worm. It will only make you make me hit you again."

"Huh?"

"Exactly."

My mouth opens, but Nathanos' glare forces it shut. As much as I want to push the issue, it is obvious I won't win. Of course, he is, somehow, precisely right. Arguing wouldn't really help me here. Not that it ever does. Instead I carry on, savoring the rather scrumptious silence. That is until the hairs draw to their ends and a shiver travels down my spine.

Glancing to my left, right, swift turn to my rear, there is no one nearby. Not anybody that I can see. They could possibly be in those shrubs –

"Worm? Try to keep up, mmmk? I really cannot walk any slower, and if I leave you behind, I won't come back if a pack of rabid dogs, a swarm of ghouls, or a rather overzealous infected squirrel were to attack you." I turn in time to see him marching onward, shouting over his shoulder with a hint of disdain. "Trust me, Worm, that squirrel scares me most of all. It is cute. And you are stupid."

I sigh, catching up with the hovering man to the best of my ability. "Nathanos," I begin, "you don't need to look after me, you know. I am a big boy. There is absolutely no way a little squirrel is going to hurt me. You know, with its little eyes, tiny fangs, and fluffy tail. How in the world is that adorable critter going –"

"Shhh," a bleached digit presses against my lips. "You are so much prettier when you don't open your mouth." For a long, rather uncomfortable moment, the undead man keeps his finger there. Once satisfied that my ambitions are good and dead, he retracts and returns to his prior course. Along with it comes the silence and the upright hairs.

Such an odd sensation, this is. I want to say it is the eyes of a gazing audience, but it seems slightly different in the end. I just wish I could place my finger on it. Like an idea caught in a bubble, bouncing within the boundaries of my mind, it is there. If only –

"Worm!" Nathanos snaps at me. "We are back." He heaves a heavy hand towards the walls of the Chapel Grounds. "And we are going in today."

"Nathanos," I whine at the comment. While the Chapel is fun to look at, I have never been one to enjoy its grounds. "Can't you just go in for the both of us?"

"Worm," he reaches back, gripping at my arm, "I would love to, but I simply do not have the capacity for all that idiocy in me. Sorry, but you have your own void to fill."

"Why?" I groan, unwillingly moving towards the steel gates. "Why do I need to go so badly?"

"It is important, Worm."

"It cannot –"

"Shush."

"Nath-"

"Shush, Worm. I'll eat your face if you don't."

"No you won't."

"Strip it right from the bone. Crisp over a fire, and cobble it up. Nom nom, Worm. Nom nom."

"Will –"

"You do it, you fool." To my delight, a voice louder than Nathanos' draws our attention. "You just need to pick up the shovel, and bury him – got it?"

Two men stand over an odd, broken wagon. The one that speaks is draped in thick, brown robes. I cannot make out much of him outside what appears to be some rather sickly-shaped fingers. Undead hands: boney and fleshless just like Nathanos'. Covered in thick armor, the other stands silently in the wake of the shouting.

He, however, is much more alive. Short, blonde hair hangs down to shoulders. A thick beard, golden beard drops down to the top of his chest plate, while he braces himself on a large, finely crafted sword. A paladin, no doubt – given the fancy gold and silver trim.

"You just going to stand and gawk, huh?" Continues the robed man to the other. "You don't plan on helping bury him, do you?"

"Excuse me," I cannot miss this opportunity, "do you two need some help?"

"Worm, no –" Nathanos sighs, losing grip of my wriggling arm.

"You sure as hell better believe we do," the robed man shouts.

"What is the matter?" I come to the two – or should I say three. It is clear that this does not need much explaining at all. "Oh." Flies buzz around the lifeless corpse. Heavy armor clings to the man's chest, but only in show. Holes litter the surface, plastered around the edges with thick, dried blood. From the jacked marks, a ghoul did this. Probably a few. "I can bury him for you," I reach back, grabbing the shovel from my back.

"You are a convenient little lad, aren't you?" He snorts, giving me a playful slap on the side. "You wouldn't imagine how hard of a time we had with this guy – don't even know the unlucky prick, but I felt it something wrong to leave him rotting out there. You know?"

I nod, "Most definitely."

"You also wouldn't imagine how lazy _this_ prick here is," he waves his slender mitt at the still-standing armored figure. "You cannot find good help these days – everyone wants to just stand around and shout out orders. You –"

The armored man shifts his gaze slowly in my direction as the other continues. After a good long moment, he grins, motions towards his robed companion, and says, "He is an idiot."

Silence chases those few words. While I cannot see the robed man's eyes, I get the sense that he is trying to set his counterpart ablaze. Before either can muster a word, I break the tension, "Why don't you two go in the Inn grab some drinks? My friend here says they have some fine ale and what not. Sounds like you two need some right about now."

Once more, silence follows. The odd pair simply exchanges glances. The armored one shrugs, the draped one does the same. After a few minutes of the somewhat strange conversation, they turn, marching past me with a hint of excitement to their steps.

"You are quite the salesman, you are lad," he remarks as he heeds my words.

The paladin follows in pursuit, stopping briefly to pat my shoulder before carrying on silently. I turn, watching as they follow the wall, turn the wall, and vanish from sight. The draped one begins to rant again, but I push him out of mind. It would seem that it worked –Nathanos is also out of sight.

A smile creeps up my face as I embrace the rather stinky fellow. He has definitely had better days. Nothing unusual, obviously. So are the ways of these Plaguelands.

Enough time has been wasted. Taking my shovel at hand, I hurriedly begin my work. Seconds become minutes, minutes chase at hours. Six feet down, and an arm's length across, I find myself standing at the bottom of a rather affordable little room.

It is actually been some time since I last did this, I think as I pull myself out of the hole. Most definitely slower than I was before, but that was some good time. Still impressive at that, I must say. I twist, plant the spade into the dirt, and reach down for the man.

After a few shifts and pushes, I align him at the edge – and stop. I normally just roll them in, but I suddenly find myself thinking against that. Seems almost rude to do that here. What if someone is watching? They might find it insulting.

I sigh. OK. I'll just have to do the whole feet-first method. Or. No. Maybe it will be better if I go with his upper body first. I can just grab him here under the arms and drag him over – no, this is rather cumbersome. I might just drop –

"Need a hand?" A soft voice sends a shock to my chest and flinch to my feet. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It is OK," I reply, panting a bit as I adjust his body in my arms. "And yes, that would be amazing, actually."

Without a word, a pair a thick, plate boats –trimmed in gold and silver- shift to the man's legs, and he lifts effortlessly over the hole. "OK. You ready?" I question my assistant.

"Yes, sir."

"Let go."

In perfect unison, the man plummets into the hole. A dull thud spawns a moment of stillness, and a satisfying second of success. "Thank you," I reach over towards my shovel, but I stop short. It hovers above the ground, in the hands of my helper. "Oh. Thank you again. I really appreciate…it…"

My eyes travel the lengths of the shaft, but my words vanish into nothingness as I find a view far more captivating. Red flowing hair, soft silky skin, strong green eyes and a smile that just melts the chill from the bone – it is her.

A drum is pounded in my chest. I should say something.

"Mind if I help you finish up here?" Her voice is soft and soothing. I should really say something.

"Yes. No. I mean," I take a breath, "that would be great." Slowly, I draw the shovel from her hand, turn, and nearly choke on air. Just relax, Hope. Just relax.

"It's good to see you again, Hope."

Again, my heart sputters from zero to max speed. Take a breath, Hope. Relax. "You too, Jessica." With that, I let my shovel take a bite of dirt, while she watches me with that delightful smile. Just relax, Hope. You got this. You were born to do this. Just. Relax.


	3. A Lone Tear

"So you have lived here your whole life?" Ponders the young woman as she scoops up handfuls of dirt somewhat half-heartedly. She tosses them into the quickly filling hole with little effort. Parts of the grave are actually beginning to stack up unevenly. "Hope?"

"Yes? Sorry," my mind stutters for a moment. "Oh. Yes. Yes. Outside the little trip to Kam…Kal…the lands with Orcs and funny-looking elves and Northrend, I have been here. I have to say that I liked Kal…Kally-"

"Kalimdor."

"Yes! That place. I liked that place the best. I actually got to see the sun." Flashbacks of the gleaming, rather intense sky skip across my mind. "It was really bright."

Giggles flutter from her, sending strange chills up my spine. I am not quite sure why, but I like when she does that. "That is it? Other than your vacation, the ruins of Lordaeron are all you have ever known?" Her voice chimes of curiosity, but my mind shifts elsewhere. Again she tosses dirt without a care. Right, middle, left, middle, right, repeat. It is a simple pattern. Of course, she would have to spend more time looking at what she is doing.

"Yes," a weak and rather feeble response – I am trying, but the dirt is just so distracting.

"Is everything alright?" A sprinkle of concern is spiced upon her words, the smile fades to match. She almost seems upset. Not the bad upset, but the worried kind.

"Of course," I am not sure why she even asks. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm fine," she pauses, biting her lip and diverting her attention down to the dirt. Silence creeps in. With it, however, comes an improved sense of work. She stops every so often to watch me, only to mimic my actions afterwards. Slow and clumsy, but albeit a noble effort.

"Dang it," she grumbles, stopping to fight with her metal gloves.

"What is it? Everything OK?" It is my turn to express concern.

"Yes. Yes," her fingers roll and unroll. With a grunt, she fights at something on her wrist before tearing the metal fist off and throwing it to the ground. She does the same with the other. "There," the smile returns on her face. "Much better. I hate getting anything in those damn gauntlets," back to work she goes, faster than ever, "feels so strange."

Like that, it is as if the mound is filling itself in.

"Hope," her focus strays again. "May I ask you a question?"

This time it is alright. We are just about done. "Go ahead." She throws some dirt onto the top, while I pat it into the nice, round shape I am used to.

"Have you done this before?"

"Yes."

Dirt. Pat. Repeat.

"How many times?"

"I don't know." Dirt. Pat. "A few hundred. Thousand, maybe. Stopped counting after Darrowshire."

"Really…?"

"Yes."

Dirt. Pat. Dirt. Pat.

"What happened at Darrowshire?"

Images of the town consume my vision. A moment is taken from the task, lost among the endlessly sprawling ransacked homes. Years ago, a time I can barely recall, yet relive as vividly as yesterday. Of it all, - the scenes of horrors, of immortalized atrocities, broken bodies, and rancid abominations- all I can remember is one thing.

"Ghosts," I say at almost a whisper.

"Ghosts?" She chuckles nervously. "You saw ghosts?"

Short pig-tails absorb the boards behind them, a translucent anomaly of another world. Playful giggles escape a set of tiny lungs. Cheer and happiness cling to her every inch, yet the chill of death escapes her every breath.

"A little girl, actually," I give the mound one last pat. "She wanted her dolly. So I went and got it for her. Had to fight some nasty things for it, but she got it." There is a long, unpleasant silence. "Pamela was her name."

A short whine escapes the woman's lungs. Shaking hands cup around her mouth; despite how hard she tries, I can hear odd heaves and huffs wafting from her. I am not sure what she is doing – wait. Is she crying?

"Jessica?"

Short, rapid breaths lay muffled behind her quivering digits. She tries in vain to control herself, but it is obvious I upset her. What do I do? I didn't mean to make her cry. OK, Hope. You messed up big-time. What would Nathanos do? Terrible thought. No. What would mom do? She…she…yes! That is it.

Slowly and carefully, I kneel beside her. For a moment I let her continue, eying her with selfish anxiety. Just do it, Hope! No more thinking: as gently as I can, I reach my arms out and wrap one around her. To my surprise, she doesn't resist. Part of me was actually expecting her to shoo me away. Or hit me.

Woah. OK. The young woman leans in towards me, pressing her head against my shoulder. This is new. Is this supposed to happen? Stop thinking, Hope. Just wrap your other arm around her. Good. Now squeeze. Perfect. I think I did it right. Question is: now what?

"I am sorry," after a few moments, she manages out a few stuttered words, "I don't know what came over me." Gently, she pushes back so I can see her face. "I should have known. I did…it's just I sent so many to find her. None returned, but why should I be surprised?" Once again she nervous-chuckles. "I was in the middle of that frozen nowhere. Who would come back to let a nobody know that their sister died?"

She sniffles, fighting back a second wave of tears, "I knew she was gone – all of them – yet I continued to hold on to hope. Stupid."

"No," controllably I retort, "never say that."

She pauses, gazing oddly at me. At first, it is fine, but the longer it lasts, it begins to make me feel somewhat uncomfortable. "Did you lose anyone here, Hope?"

My turn to feel the sorrow of loss. Only righteous, I suppose. "Yes. My father was –" I pause, the story Nathanos told me quickly returning. "-he died when I was young. I watched my mother die of the plague that consumed these lands."

"I…I am so sorry," before I can react, she gives me a quick hug. Unexpected, to say the least. It happens so fast, that I don't have time to return the effort before she breaks from me. "That-that is terrible. I'll only have stories of what happened, but you…you…I am sorry."

"It is OK. You have nothing to be sorry for," I smirk, thinking of those final days with my mother. "She died happy. I like to remember her that way." Without thinking, I raise my hand, touching a finger to her soft, silky skin. I wipe a tear from her eye. Suddenly, a surge of warmth rushes down my arm. It is indescribable. It…it –

 _Hold in formation!_

Darkness consumes my vision, quickly replaced by a dreary, frost-stricken place. No longer am I in the Plaguelands, but somewhere much worse. A chill drills me to the bone. A fear of dread clings to my mind. Around me ice gathers, crackling and whispering of misery and woe. I…I remember this place. I was here.

 _Do not succumb to fear! The King must fall!_

Soldiers fill the scene. Blades are raised; armored caked with frost; courage held upon each and every one. They stand before a lone figure. Coated in metal skulls, sheets of iron, and wearing the helm of darkness itself, he spills ghastly blue clouds from his haunted eyes.

The Lich King…

 _We did not come this far to fail! Charge!_

Rallied, I find myself jumping to my feet. A shovel swung to my side. The light chasing my heels. There is only one way now. Onward! The Lich King must fall! We fight, clashing against the darkness. We collide upon him. Soldiers fall, yet their sacrifices bolster us.

A conjurer of death, our foe dances upon his stage. We stagger. We weaken.

 _Fight on! For the Argent Crusade! For everything you hold dear!_

But we do not fall. Nathanos at my side. Carlin at my rear. We stagger. We weaken.

 _For great justice! For the Light!_

Flash, bursts of blinding light, and then silence. We stagger. We weaken. But we are not the ones to break.

Amid the drowning, choking stillness; among the field of bodies, there is a lone figure that draws my eyes. At his side is damned sword. Near his head, rests the crown of the dead. We staggered. We weakened. But we were not the ones to break.

"Hope?"

Darkness consumes my vision once more.

"Hope, are you OK?"

A beautiful sight takes over – one of red hair, strong green eyes, and a look of the utmost of worry. "Hope-"

"I-I saw it."

"Saw what, Hope?"

"The battle. The Lich King. Our battle. I saw it."

"What did you see?"

"We fought. Many died," I take a deep, trembling breath. " Yet we won. We killed him."

"Was that all?"

I nod.

A frown becomes her, and her eyes dart to the dirt. She appears deep in thought, lost in what I just said. It is as if what I said was harder on her than me. Stranger still, she is rather pale. "Jessica, are you alright?" Her lips seem rather ghastly in color and the sheen flickers from her eyes for but a moment. "Jessica?"

"Yes, yes," she leans back, placing her forehead in her hands and wincing. "Just not feeling well, is all. It has been happening more-and-more of late." Her hands fall upon her knees. She braces herself and takes a deep, calming breath. "It is like the North followed me. Sounds weird, I know." Nervous-chuckle. "But that is the best way to describe it."

"I know what you mean."

"Forget about it," Jessica attempts to shoo it away like a bothersome fly, "the fight. The flashback-"

"They come and go. Nothing new for me, Jessica," I pause, staring down the woman as she clearly tries to avoid her weakened state. "What is important is what just happened to _you_. Because I have been feeling the same thing."

"Really?"

"Yes. And if it is happening to me and you then, well -"

"It is happening to others." She pauses, her eyes darting to the dirt, lost in thought. "What do you think it could be?"

I shrug. "No idea. Never really been good at that sort of thinking."

"Well, we should- " the words stop short. "Oh no," she nearly gasps. Her eyes have widened. There is something behind me.

"What is it?" I say, turning to have a look.

"Dammit, Worm," but he finds me instead. "I have waited long enough. What the hell are –" he stops dead in tracks. "Worm." A lone eyebrow rises. "Of the many things I thought you are, never once did I think you were a holy man."

I don't –

"I know, Worm. 'You don't get it.' Just get up, and stop praying at the grave already." His tight grip helps me to my feet. "What were you doing that took this long? Did you get lost and –" Words trail into nothingness. Chilled air rushes down my neck, drawing my hairs to their ends.

"Nathanos," I question as I feel his face uncomfortably close to my person. "What are you doing?"

"Worm, do not lie to me. I will hurt you if you do." He turns me, staring intently into my soul. "Was she here?"

"I-"

"I am serious. No lying. Pain. Misery."

I shrug.

"Damn you, Worm. You are not a damn politician! I should slap you, but I am too damn angry! I wouldn't stop until there was some sense in that head of yours, but we both know you'd die way before that happened." He sighs. "What did I tell you about her?"

"Nathanos, she isn't like that."

"Oh. And now you are an expert on women?" Sarcasm is his closest friend right now. Alas, it is slayed by a fierce snort. "Worm, I do not trust that woman. Simply because she has found a special interest in you, and let's face it, Worm: never trust a beautiful woman, especially when she is interested in you. Especially you. Especially."

"Nathanos - ?"

"No whining." He turns stomping fiercely from whence he came. "You are coming into town. Period."

My mouth opens, but it shuts immediately. I toss a look over my shoulder, searching for the woman that vanished like a dream. I didn't even know she got up, but then again, Nathanos is distracting.

With a heavy sigh, I follow after my disgruntled destiny. It beckons with scornful fury - something I cannot ignore. If nothing else, I might as well appease it for the time being lest I get hit. And I don't feel like getting hit.

I stop briefly at the archway in, but not out of dread. It is there, my eyes return to the freshly sewn earth, and the nicely rounded mound. With one last sigh, I forgo hope and succumb to the inevitable. A shame, really. I was really enjoying myself.


	4. Will Just Have To Deal

What if Nathanos is right? What is Jessica is more than she seems? Could it be that she is some darker creation? No, that cannot be. She is nice. But Nathanos could be correct on that, too. Maybe she is just being nice to me for hidden motives. That doesn't seem like her, though. Yet Nathanos did tell me that women are prone to do manipulating things like that.

But Jessica isn't any woman. Of course, she isn't Sylvanas, but she is way nicer than her. My Queen, on the other hand, is very honest with me. Harsh: yes, but I know it comes from deep down in her heart. Alas, that honesty can be too blunt sometimes. And painful. Especially painful.

It is so hard to compare the two, at the same time. They are two completely unique people, both of which bring their own blend of attractiveness. If I had to choose right now, however, I would have to say –

Ow! What the hell?!

"Nathanos!" I blurt, once more feeling at the back of my skull. "What did I do?"

"Nothing."

"Then why hit me?!"

"You had it coming."

"Was I happy again or something?" I cannot help but glare at him – which, of course, does little.

The undead man stares intently at me, yet has a slight limp in his look. He clacks his teeth together and sighs, "That was for making me wait. I don't wait, Worm. When I do, I am merely counting the moments until there is a pain. Understood?"

"Clearly," whimpers roll off my tongue, matching the subsiding throbs.

"Excellent." There is a brief pause. "Now, if you are done day-dreaming, tell me what you see? Eh, Worm?" Nathanos sweeps his hands outward, presenting the small encampment for me. There are long, dirt roads that crisscross the area. Alongside them rest numerous buildings of sorts. Some of them are finely built. Others are more like little shacks than anything else. In the epicenter of it all: the Chapel. They seem fitting, each and every one – almost everything, that is.

To the rear of the Chapel, yet still in plain sight, rest a few large, white tents. No roads connect to them. Only a few people seem to be wandering the area. "Nathanos," I begin, "what are those tents for?"

"Well butter my hide, place an apple in my mouth, and call me a roast pig, I cannot believe you guessed right," he snickers. "Mighty fine guess indeed, Worm. I must admit."

"I didn't-"

"Don't ruin the moment, Worm," a lone boney finger is wagged in front of my face. "Whatever the case, you pinpointed exactly what I had in mind. Now, if you had another guess, what would you guess is under there?"

I cannot actually see anything besides the tents. There look like some things on the ground beneath it, but nothing I can make out. "I don't know," I shrug.

"Fanastic!" The faceless man gives me a firm slap on the back and cackles rather wickedly. "That is more like it."

"What?"

"Don't worry your pretty like head, Worm." Upon hovering feet, Nathanos seemingly glides towards the tents. I am not exactly sure what is happening, but I figure I might as well follow. Not really in the mood to get slapped again.

Up a short hill, around the freshly planted shrubs at the Chapel's walls, and through a tiny garden, to the tents we arrive. Before we even place foot there, however, I am greeted by the full passion of a gust so foul I am nearly winded.

Nathanos carries on, unaffected by that which hinders me so. It takes a few moments of staggering and stumbling before I compose myself. Yes, it is vile, but nothing truly new – just more potent than normal.

"Worm? Do you need motivation?" Rapping toes mimic the impatience plastered upon his face.

"No," I try my earnest not to take in too much air. I fail. "It just smells. Really badly."

"Oh." He glances around, wagging the hollowed notch in his skull in the air. "Didn't notice a thing." With a shrug, he proceeds. "Do you see what I see?"

"Skunk?"

"What, Worm?"

"Nothing…"

"Good. Then you clearly notice the rotting people, no?"

"Rotting people? What- ?" It would seem in my haze that I spent more time fighting the stench than trying to notice what Nathanos brought me to see. Immediately, I take heed of a few rows of bodies, laid upon thin sheets and wrapped in blankets. Skin is pale, eyes are shut, yet their lids are nearly translucent, and sores litter the surface of the decomposing flesh. Occasionally, a handful of them release a harsh, dry cough, but – wait. Cough? How in the world?

Compelled by my curiosity, I creep towards one of the presumed corpses. Everything about this man says he is dead. Actually, I have buried people that look healthier than he does. Yet he fidgets. He is very clearly fidgeting. "Nathanos, is he undead?" I mutter at whisper as if speaking to myself.

"Not quite, Worm, but very astute observation," soft footsteps lead Nathanos to my side. "Part of me almost believes that young woman knocked some sense in you – a feat I found to be foolhardy at best. A shame she has an interest in you; otherwise I'd say she is an inspiration to this dimwitted worm of mine."

"So," I try to piece together what he said, but it still makes no sense to me. "Does that mean I get to see her again?"

"No, Worm. That means if you see her again, I'll thank her, kill her, then punch you in the face."

"OK. Just wanted to clear that up."

"Fair attempt, Worm. Fair enough," he brushes my ambitions aside with a flicker of his fingers. "But thinking outside your pants, these people are not actually the dead reborn. From what I have been told, they are simply sick."

"With what? This looks terrible."

"Precisely. I tried to let the guard let me put them out of their misery, but apparently euthanasia is frowned upon in these parts. Bunch of barbarians, if you ask me."

"So… what are we supposed to do?"

He shrugs, "Hell if I know."

"Then…why are we here?"

"Well, Worm, _I_ am here because I have an appointment with the fatheads inside the chapel: the supposed _leaders_ of this fine establish. _You_ are here because I don't need you wandering off and getting yourself offed by a burrowed grub."

"Really, Nathanos?" I groan. "That happened once. When I was…what? Ten?"

"And you are what now? Eight? No, Worm, I want you to stay here." He turns and trots back the way he came. Every part of me wants to throw something at him, or to yell at him, but I know exactly what happens when I do that.

Bah. So here I am: standing over a bunch of half-living bodies. Why did he have to bring me _here_? I would have happily wandered around the houses. Or to the Inn. But to a stinky pile of sick people? Is he trying to get me ill? I mean, good luck at that, but still.

Guess there isn't a point in crying about it. Sadly, what do I do now? This is starting to make me sick, and –

"You!" A familiar voice shatters the void. I glance side-to-side, but not catch sight of anything. "You – yes, you!" There, standing on the other side of the Chapel, by the corner of the other tent, looms a man draped in thick brown robes. The bony man. He beckons me to come over.

"No," I reply.

He raises his arms and shakes his head in confusion.

"I cannot," my rather pathetic response, "I was told not to."

"You a dog or something, lad?" He cries back.

"No…"

"You can do whatever you want, lad – do it!"

"But…he will get mad."

"You will be fine – I promise!"

"How do you know?" There is no way he knows.

As expected, he shrugs. Ha. I knew he didn't know.

"You would be missing out on some fun – beers, brawls, and babes; there is a really cute one with red hair that has your name written all over her."

Red hair? "Red hair?"

He nods.

My eyes wander to the side. There is no Nathanos in sight. They peer back at the robed figure. Still no Nathanos in sight. I guess it wouldn't hurt if I go have a look around. Besides, I will be in town. There are no way squirrels or grubs can get me there.

Hesitation clings at my heart. Doubt chokes at my mind. Despite it all, I find myself on my feet, marching with caution towards the robed man.

"You did it – I knew you could do it," he pats my arm with his rather jagged fingers and turns. Swiftly, as if trying to copy Nathanos, he hovers towards a large building down the road. Once there, he pauses at the door, grips the handle, and says with resounding joy, "You made the right choice, lad."

A rush of air – bred of ale, meat, and sweat -, sounds of commotion, and pure heat washes over me. It has been a long time since I have felt anything like this. A rather welcome sensation, to be honest. Nicer than the other one I have been feeling of late.

We push our way inside, past idle chatting persons, around packed tables, and towards the corner in the back. From here, I cannot make out many of the faces. I can, however, see a glimmer of gold and silver.

My heart races a bit, but finds only a drop of anxiety. The Paladin, with his gleaming blonde hair, raises a glass of fine ale in my direction. It would seem that the pair of them really did take my advice. I –

"Hope!" Fully consumed, I nearly fall as I turn to embrace that sweet voice. Standing across the way, still draped in that fine gold and silver as well, is the red-haired woman.

"Oh-ho, you are quite the little girl's-man, aren't you?" Boney fingers pat my shoulder once more. Cold chills ripple down my neck as he whispers into my ear, "you can go ahead – we won't be mad if you left us from a pretty little thing like that, lad." With a chuckle and playful shove, I find myself nearly floating across the room.

As I feel right now, I don't even care if Nathanos gets upset. I'll be fine. No squirrels or grubs for me. He will just have to deal with that.


	5. Just One Kiss

"Take a seat, Hope," a wide smile is spread across her face, her hand a mere compass for my destination. "I am so sorry for running off like that. It is just that. Well." She nervously glances around the room before whispering, "Nathanos doesn't seem to like me."

"Well yeah," I reply without hesitation. "He said you were bad for me," I shrug. "Apparently the only reason a pretty girl would speak to me is if she wanted to use me. Something like that."

"Really?" She takes a sip of her ale and smacks her lips in a bit of disgust. "Well you tell that thick-headed friend of yours that pretty girls just so happen to like cute men. OK?"

Surging heat rushes to my cheeks. My heart flutters gently. "Really?"

"Really."

"Then. Well. Yeah. Sure. I will tell him that."

"Good. While you are at it, tell him to leave you alone."

"What?"

"I heard the way he speaks to you. That is rude, if you ask me." She seems rather agitated by what she is saying. I, however, cannot help but chuckle. Never really thought about it. "What is so funny?" She immediately responds - my laughter an apparent ember to her kindling.

"Nothing," I try to save myself. "Nathanos is always like that. Just the way he is."

"Well. He should be nicer to you."

"He is.

"What?" She cocks a befuddled eyebrow at me.

"Yeah. Nathanos is a really big jerk at times, but he is less of a jerk to me. Most of the time, anyway." I scoff softly at the thought of that. "Strange, I know. But that is Nathanos."

She leans in, staring intently at me. Her eyes burrow into me as if she is trying to read the thoughts out of my head. "So he is really like that to everyone?"

I nod.

"Ha," her eyes fall to her drink. She gives it a swirl and giggles. "That explains a lot, really," the words are quiet, just barely audible as if she is talking to herself. "So," her eyes shift back to me, "what have you been up to?"

"Not much, really. Finished up with the grave and went out back to the campsites with Nathanos," I laugh, "cannot get much done in a few minutes around here, sadly."

Strangely, she stares at me somewhat surprised. She doesn't say a word, but it is obvious she is perplexed at what I just said. "Oh, really?" She nearly mumbles. "Felt like hours- days, even. Wow."

"I know, right?" Honestly, with Nathanos, time does move slowly.

"Yeah. Wow," she huffs in amazement. "Hours felt like minutes when I was with you over at the grave."

"Really?" I respond somewhat anxiously.

"Was it not the same for you?"

"No. No. Wait. No," relax, Hope. I take a deep breath. "What I mean is: 'yes, it felt like the entire afternoon just disappeared over there'. It was really nice. Most fun I have ever had when…well…digging a grave.

"Yeah, when you put it that way," her delightful giggle follows, "it does sound quite strange."

"It does."

My words bounce across the table, fading quickly into nothingness. A moment of silence falls between us, lingering for an uncomfortable amount of time. "So," her voice breaks the silence, "mind if I ask you another question, Hope?"

"Of course not."

"Have you ever thought of leaving this place?"

"…what?"

"I mean," a swig of beer, "don't you want to see more than this place?"

"I…don't know?"

"Hope," she leans in, her words focused. "Why do you stay here? Look around you: death still lingers here, the Scourge still roams freely, and this new sickness – look at what it is doing to people. I for one do not want to end up like them. Do you?"

"No…"

"Hope," closer she moves in. I can almost feel the heat of her words. "There are so much nicer places than this. Have you ever seen Stormwind?"

I shake my head.

"It is gorgeous, Hope. And Ironforge? Realm of the Dwarves? You would love it. I bet you even get a kick out of the gnomes."

"Gnomes?" A twinge of excitement hangs on my words. "I like gnomes."

"See, Hope. There is much more to this world than this defiled land," a soft hand falls upon mine. It is light, gentle, so-much-so that I can barely feel it. What I do, however, is warm and unbelievable. "I can show you."

"R-really?"

She nods.

"But what will happen to these people? Nathanos?"

"Hope," she takes her hand off, waving it at the door, "you have done what you could for them. You slayed the Lick King, dammit. What more could they ask. And Nathanos? We both know he is a big boy. He can handle himself."

"He will be mad…"

"Ha," she scoffs, "when isn't he?"

"Good point," I reply, chuckling somewhat nervously.

"Hope, would you like to see the world?"

"Yes…"

"Then kiss me."

"What?" I exclaim.

"Kiss me."

"I…I don't…" kiss her? She wants me to kiss her? My heart skips the racing and aims for full-throttle. At its pace, it is likely to rip from my chest. "Y-you…what?"

"A kiss, Hope. That is it."

"A kiss?" She cannot be serious. Is she serious? No way.

"Yes," a newfound passion rests in her eyes. Firm, strong power that sings of truth and desire. A hint of anxiety and hope hides beneath her otherwise unshakable conviction. She is serious. Unbelievably serious.

I cannot say a word. I do not need to. Creeping towards me, the red-haired vixen moves in. Fire burns from her eyes. She hungers, biting at her lip. Epitome of strength, lost only in her trembling hands.

As if compelled, I lean in. I am drawn in; consumed by the moment. I shouldn't, but I must. I have to. Her hands press against the sides of my head, but they are light. I cannot feel their warm touch, they are so delicate.

"A kiss," she whimpers.

My hands wrap around her head. I can almost taste her soft, supple lips. I can almost feel them against my mine. I shouldn't. I must…

"A kiss…"

As we lock, the world rocks, the ground shakes. A shockwave nearly knocks me from my seat. Jessica flings rearwards, catching herself just barely. Horror fills her face, as I know it does mine.

"WORM!" The heavens themselves rain the faceless man's thunder.

Driven by fright, I leap from my chair, lunging for the door.

"Hope!" Jessica shouts from behind. I stop, glancing at her from over my shoulder. She is pale. She is weak. Yet I can still feel her passion. How I want it, but it shall not be mine. Not now. Not yet. With a heavy heart, I push into the light, her angelic voice crying, "Hope, no!"

Her song is lost to the horror before me. Once calm streets now fill with fear. People flee wildly, running from wanton husks. There are so many. I don't know where they came from. The song of the alarm bell begins to ring.

"Worm! Dammit, Worm!" Only one man can craft a call louder than a screeching bell forged for one purpose. Within the broken camps, spraying the pillaging monsters as they move, is a man draped in dark green. At his sides stand a few man armored in gold and silver.

"Nathanos!" I cry, smacking one, two, three beasts from my path. "Nathanos, what the hell is going on?!"

He snipes down an advancing ghoul. "I was about to ask you that, Worm. You were out here. What did you see?!"

"I…well," I swallow harshly.

"Dammit, Worm. Where were you?!"

"I-"

"Don't tell, Worm. That stupid whore has you vexed, I knew it." He grunts, putting another beast down. "We will worry about freeing you from that banshee's grasp –" another shot "-until then, we need to deal with this nonsense."

"What are we going to do?" I beat back a creature, but they seem endless. I don't understand where they are coming from. There were not this many camps. This makes no sense. A rancid ghoul lunges from behind the Chapel, struck down. Another leaps from behind it, its fate the same.

Another after another, their ends all on the same page. I move onward, pressing against the swarm. Arrows whiz past my head. Monstrosities continue to fall. It feels like a hundred die before we begin to push them off the rear of the Chapel. It is there, I see the debris littering the ground.

Stone bricks are spread far and wide, blood spurt from an open wound. The back of the structure is blown off. From its sore, the creatures flood forth.

"There!" Nathanos cries. "They are coming from in there!"

Onward we push, breaking them until the opening is ours. Their bodies clump around us. Their numbers are many, but it simply makes for higher scores. Yet, even as we block the supposed source, they continue to come.

"Worm," Nathanos shouts in between twangs, "go in. We will hold them here!"

Words float to my tongue, but are lost to the darkness that looms before me. A gaping maw: teeth of stone, a throat of raw black. With a deep swallow, I gaze into the hungering mouth. With a firm step, I descend into the abyss.

I move downward, the sounds of battle slowly fading. Further I go: the skirmish but a distant memory. Downward, until the sounds of my feet and my breath are all that remain. Each step is louder than ever. Each step is darker than before. Each step until the ground levels, and I come to a stop.

I grip my shovel and take a deep breath. Runes flicker across the surface. Light spills softly against the aged stone. Around me are old, neglected walls. Numerous slots are carved into each face – just wide enough to fit a single person on their back. I have seen this before. It is a crypt.

It would seem that many of these resting places are now vacant, their wrappings and innards spilled across the floor and broken at the top of the steps. There are so many. I am not even sure who or what was buried down here. Whatever it is, it brings an overwhelming sense of death and an unforgettable chill.

I move in closer, eying the tombs. Puffs of frozen air escape my mouth, scraping over the words engraved in the plaque under one tomb. The name is illegible. I press on, the rattling of my teeth almost deafening. It isn't here. It –

A soft sound sends a chill down my spine. I do not know what it was, but I heard it. Again. Louder. More pronounced. It comes from that way. It calls to me. It beckons.

I hear it. Louder than before. I can see something now.

 _Hope…_

It calls to me.

 _…there must..._

It beckons…

 _…always be…_

Carved into the wall, a lone plaque rests separate from them all. It glimmers, drawing my eye with the utmost of ferocity. Each and every letter shines. They glisten in the light. They burn beneath my icy breath.

… _the one…_

They call to me.

… _true…_

They beckon.

 _…king…_

My fingers run the length of the only words engraved here. They run over and over. My eyes widen. Ice courses my veins. I try to deny it, but it is real. This is where they buried him. This is where they buried the man: _Nathaniel Blackwood._

"Look at you, child," ice erupts within me. I spin, only to collapse. I cannot move. I cannot breath. All I can see is a silhouette: a dark, unrelenting presence that sews dread in my heart. He is complete and utter darkness: the essence of nothingness: the lord of death: the Lich King. Only blue flames that spew from his eyes are the savor from his devouring aura. "How you have grown. It has been too long." The world spins, and the darkness sweeps over me. As it does, it calls to me; it beckons, "How I have missed you, my child; my boy; _my champion_."


	6. One More Time

_Hold in formation!_

Swirling haze, gray and thick, dances around the dark and icy terrain. Soldiers clad in gold and silver fight the raging storm before them. They struggle valiantly. _We_ struggle valiantly.

It is just one enemy, yet at his fury is matched only by his endless army. For each one he commands that falls, a dozen rise in its stead. There is no steel, no blade, no mankind might to withstand the swarm. Only our courage; only our will to win guides us.

 _Do not succumb to fear! The King must fall!_

Only our courage…

 _We did not come this far too fail! Charge!_

Only our will…

 _Fight on! For the Argent Crusade! For everything you hold dear!_

For the ones we love…

 _For great justice!_ _For the Light!_

Blinding illumination flickers briefly before dying, leaving behind the broken scene once more. Among the bodies, a single mass, a sword at his side and a fallen crown near his motionless head. Still and lifeless, the lord of death owns his cruelty to bear.

 _We did it! We did it, my boys!_

Yet as I gawk, smitten by the unbelievable truth, a strange black substance begins to weep from the fallen crown. It begins as a light cloud. Slowly it grows, creeping across the ground. The cheers of the triumphant rain down upon me, but all I can taste is the foul mist that expands with every moment.

 _We-wait. Something is wrong. What is it doing?_

An explosion of black erupts outward. It collides against me, smothering me in heavy soot. Death reeks from every grain. Death burns into my flesh. Death…

 _What is this?! Retreat! RE-_

I cannot move. I cannot breath. Warmth slowly fades drains from my body. A heavy darkness hangs over me, yet through it, I can see it – I can see _them_. High in the air, strung upon a shapeless mass, are two pools of blue that spill aquamarine flames into the air.

They are planted in the figure so dark, light gathers there to die. His creature holds the shape, the silhouette of a man, yet its very existence is skewed and blurred; its orders fuzzy and rippling, like burning, black flames. No longer a man, but something worse. From its deepest core it speaks to me.

 _There must..._

The heat in my veins quickly freezes as he gazes upon me.

 _…always be..._

A sword fills my vision – that same, wicked blade that took so many lives.

 _..the one true king..._

"Goldfish?" a familiar bay calls me from what seems like a continent away, "wake up, you imbecile." Her voice is familiar. Who – "Marris, your little pet is broken. Wake him up already, or I will grant him a permanent sleep. Understood?"

"Of course, my Lady," one set of footsteps trails off, only to be replaced by an angrier pair-

Ow!

"Wake up, worm!" A sharp pain ripples down my chest. The once numbing ice is replaced by a horrid surge of red-hot agony.

"Ouch," is all I can muster.

"There we are. My Worm understands a few things," my lids sever, letting a stinging barrage of gentle light beat my eyes.

I rub my sore orbs and glance over at the faceless man – who wears a wicked grin on the corners of his mouth. "Why did you have to do that?" I mumble.

"Simple Worm: nap time's over."

"Really?" I grumble. "Did you actually let me sleep eight hours this time?"

"Ha!" Harsh, somewhat uncomfortable sounds come from the man. Laughter is not his strong suit. "Eight hours? That is cute, Worm. Real cute."

"What are you talking about, Nathanos? " With all the might I can muster, I manage to sit upright. "I am not in the mood for games."

"Well, after your little romp in the tombs, you blacked out, and –"

"The tombs!" I cry, immediately reliving that moment. "Nathanos, I saw- " before I can finish, a set of boney digits devour my face. His palm presses into my nose with a rather unusual tenderness. If only it didn't smell so…funny…

"Don't interrupt me, Worm. And yes, we know: your dad." He chuckles. "While you got the stupid pants, your father clearly got the intelligent hat. The bastard surprised us back at the Chapel, but we were able to chase the man out before he could overtake us."

He retracts his stinky paw, "Unfortunately, an army descended from Lord Stupid's lair: Stratholme. Every inch we claimed recently was lost. They besieged the damn Chapel, but these paladins are a resilient bunch of jackasses, I give them that."

Once more, he cackles – this time far more bearable to the ear. "Fortunately, my little messenger did his job, and the Forsaken arrived in a fashion only the Lady could muster. Ah, what a sight. If there is anything in this world that can humble me, it is that woman. That and earthquakes. She, however, is far scarier."

With a proud nod he continues, "She broke the siege in a matter of hours. Hell, drove the entire legion of undead straight back north. Some intense fighting, Worm. You would have enjoyed watching me do all the work."

"Nathanos," I sigh, "You didn't answer my question: how long has it-?"

"About a week, give or take some random number."

"A week?!"

"Yes. Whatever papa did to you clearly is going to need some therapy to properly repress."

A week? That…that doesn't seem possible. It feels like I just passed out. That doesn't make any sense. None of this makes sense. "Where are we?" But a taste of many questions, yet the first off my tongue.

"Just outside that little tower we saved last week. Damn monsters have fortified the entire base up to the top of the hill. Skeletons are spitting arrows at us like deranged llamas." He shakes his head, spewing a sense of disappointment and disgust at the same time. I don't understand the comment, but I guess llamas are really good archers.

"Now that that is over, you are needed at the front lines, Worm."

"But-?" The second of many questions; alas, Nathanos apparently only had time for one. Upon his graceful and relentless feet, he drags me out from the tiny tent and into the true dreary light of day. Cast in its feeble rays is a sight that awes.

A once small tower is coated in large layers of dark stone and metal. Rings of spikes and barricades form a perfect boundary at the base, leading upwards to thick walls. Behind their generous girth are gently tucked archers that rain arrows down upon the entrenched Forsaken army.

Tents upon tents rest alongside mine. Hundreds of soldiers scurry about, carrying arrows, dragging carts of ammunition for the many unique catapults, and reinforcing the lines as ghouls throw themselves against them.

Two lines have been formed: in between a contested field and the many bodies to signify the struggle. Neither side appears to be winning: a stalemate.

We slow, nearing a well-fortified position near the front. A handful of soldiers eagerly guard the station, but only one catches my attention. Standing taller than the rest, holding herself with the poise of a goddess, is the Lady draped in black.

"My queen," Nathanos firmly states, "the idiot is awake."

She snorts, tossing a scornful gaze over her shoulder. It is but one burning ruby, its gaze as cruel as damnation, yet as beautiful as its namesake. "Good. We need more fodder."

We stop short of her. A quickened pace catches my tightening chest. Her shape, her figure is commanding, powerful; at the same time a sculpture, perfect as an hourglass, everything the eyes could ever dream of.

At last, she faces us, presenting the stern demeanor. While beautiful, those gleaming eyes are all I need. They are exactly as I recall them.

"Tell me, Goldfish, what did you learn in that tomb of yours?"

I swallow harshly. Say something, Hope. Say anything. "Well…I…um," again I swallow, "I must say…you are still beautiful." Anything but that, Hope. Anything-

As expected, the fiery fury of her gaze burns down upon me. Not a word is spoken, but none is needed. Her glare is more than enough. "Really?" She huffs in disgust. "Are we doing this again? Honestly?"

"I-"

"Stop. Stop, Goldfish," she takes a deep breath. She exhales. "OK. One more time: what did you learn in that tomb? Before you answer, remember: if I do not like the answer, I am going to hurt you. Violently."

"OK." It is funny, really. When Nathanos threatens me, it startles me. When she does it, I am strangely tickled. That seems really odd. "Well," sandpaper becomes my throat, "there wasn't much. Empty tombs. Lots of forgotten names. And…one. One…"

"Yes? Get on with it, Goldfish."

"One with my father's name on it," an image of the tomb, of my father, of those eyes flicker in my mind, "he stood before me. The only things I really recall are his eyes. They were like _his_."

"Who's, Goldfish? Be specific, or I will make you suffer," frustration strangles every syllable.

"The Lich King's."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Blue flames. Pierced into my very soul when they looked at me."

An indescribable look becomes her face. There is a mixture of repugnance and rage, yet pure hatred brings it all together. "Then we don't have time to waste," she redirects back towards the lines. "Marris, get to the lines. The attack happens _now_."

"My Queen, if I may –"

"No, Marris. You may not," she snaps. "We don't have time to prepare. If what the imbecile says is true, then every moment we waste preparing is one he grows stronger. Now get to the front, _Marris_."

"Yes, my Lady," his grip falls upon me. Together we depart, leaving behind the fierce goddess upon her rise. Into the pits we descend, trampling through the muck and grime. Soldiers push past us. Nathanos kindly shoves others from his path. It is but a quickened blur, and as quickly as we set out, we stop.

"OK, Worm, here we are," he pushes up against the hard, cold ground, casting his glance over the edge. "They are definitely there. And they are angry." His gaze falls upon me. "Well, Worm, this is going to hurt, not going to lie to you."

"What?" I don't think I have heard Nathanos say anything like that before. OK. Maybe once or twice, but it is a rarity. So much so that the tighten muscles and heightened sense of urgency are probably justified.

"Well, Worm, we weren't supposed to attack for another day. There is no way we are ready for this. It would seem that you, once again, messed up some perfectly good plans, Worm."

"Me?" I grunt. "What did I do?"

"You opened your fat mouth, is what you did."

"She asked me a question…"

"Don't go using logic here, Worm. That is a heavy weapon and your arms are not used to it."

"But-"

"No, Worm. This is-"

"Soldiers of the Forsaken!" The heavens hurl down the enchanting boom of the Lady's bay. "Listen to your Queen, for I bring troubling news. It would seem that the dark rumors are true: the Lich King still lives." Murmurs erupt from the lines. A symphony of disbelief and dread that can be felt in every soldier. The Queen, however, gives little time of thought on the matter.

"Our enemy hunkers before us – empty, cold, and prepared. They _cower_ in our presence, waiting for us to end their pathetic lives. This is our moment, Forsaken, to do what the rest of the world so disgracefully failed to finish: we will _destroy the_ Scourge. We will defeat the Lich King! For the Forsaken!"

In unison, the army cries back, "For the Queen!"

On cue, the sounds of snapping rope, creaking wood, and screaming stone floods the heavens. Dozens of boulders, canisters, munitions of destruction rain down upon our enemies. Eruptions chime in the distance, drowned by the machine of war and its lone command, "reload!"

Again the mechanisms sing, the heavens are blotted, the horizon explodes. This time, however, a single whistle screeches. I know that call. I have heard it before. The banshee's wail: her scream of war. With it, Nathanos' voice is all but deafening:

"Charge!"

It would seem once more into fray.


	7. Upon Our Hill

Upon Nathanos' heels, we abandon the sanctuary behind. First on the field; first on the stage– how wickedly familiar this play. Out here, there is only one note to accompany our advance. Every other sound is lost. The trampling feet the bolstering cries the clanking armor: nothing. All of them drowned behind a single beat: the pounding of the heart. It is our motivation; it is the final melody of many an act.

Louder it grows, a near-constant thumping as the sky is consumed by a thousand black blurs. Each one holds fate on its jagged tips. Upon their tails, the dice are rolled. It is with our actions that they fall in our favor, or land in our demise.

I leap forward, skidding to a makeshift barricade. Stillness becomes us. The calm before the downpour. Soft, seemingly gentle pings sing upon the metal. They are but whispers – a chorus so sweet. Truth be told, they chime only of death. So the cries behind us behold.

Stillness.

"Keep moving, Worm!" Upon Nathanos' heels, we abandon the sanctuary behind. First out, the sky is clear again. We move fast. The enemies are no longer distant fears. The nightmares gain bodies, faces. Humanity obtained, if only an illusion.

They are but abominations: monsters. The humanity gained is lost, their morbidity becoming the reality. They are but abominations: brainless monsters. There is no thinking. There is nothing left of them. They are –

"Die!" Wood springs at my feet. Sprung from the very earth, a shadowed soldier slashes. His blade is swift. The surprise sends a shockwave through my chest. Clank, my shovel sings. Clank, the knight stumbles. Clank, he falls.

I hesitate, gazing at the broken man at my feet. At this side, an empty hole looms. A trap?

"Cover!"

A tug and a smack, metal clacks against my back. Next comes the melody of chaos. A second downpour – this one almost rolling unfavorably. Fortunately for me, Nathanos has loaded dice. "Dammit, Worm. Use your head."

Stillness.

"Come on, we –" metal scrapes against metal. "Damn. They have us pinned, Worm. These bastards are way more prepared than I imagined. We cannot take these kinds of losses," he glances backwards. "We are getting slaughtered."

I turn, wincing slightly at the sight. Hundreds upon hundreds of Forsaken charge behind us. Hundreds upon hundreds lay at their feet. Arrows sprinkle continuously, their fates sealed. Only a few dozen make it. Less hunker nearby.

 _Hold in formation!_

A voice flutters in the back of my mind. I can hear it, mixed with the screams of death. It is soft and quiet, but it is there. Heat begins to course my veins.

 _Do not succumb to fear!_

It surges through my body.

 _Fight on!_

"OK, Worm," Nathanos calls from my side, but I hear him not. "Worm. Worm. Bad Worm. Stop. No. NO!"

Upon my own heels, I leave the sanctuary behind. Ahead the faces of my enemy are all I see. Streaks of black whiz past, driven by the aim of fear. But I will not succumb. An enemy lunges forth. But I will not succumb. Another. I will fight on.

Directly ahead, a lone, tall barrier blocks my way. Archers fling frightened arrows. Their aim is weak. Their resolve weaker. They are abominations. Nothing more.

 _We did not come this far too fail!_

I inhale.

 _Charge!_

A shovel rises. The runes glimmer on its face.

"FOR GREAT JUSTICE!" My voice crashes upon the heavens, but I do not recognize it. It is loud. It is deep. And it drowns the very clouds in my power. From its very boom, the land is swept in light.

A beam so concentrated, so precise, it is a singular ray of light. An explosion erupts upon the wall shattering it vaporizing a massive hole in the middle. Bodies fly from the impact. Screams fill the air.

 _Charge!_

Upon my heels, I plunge into the breach. Lifeless husks litter the ground. Ghouls skitter and scammer in panic. Soldiers in full armor falter in my wake. It would seem that even death withers in the presence of the light.

"Enough!" I duck as the voice tries to mask a subtle hiss. A lone arrow whizzes past my head. It is quickly lost as I strike it mid-flight. "Enough of this damned nonsense!" I stumble, catching myself in time to dodge. Again, I stagger, barely evading another.

A figure draped in black attacks with all force. He is fast. Incredibly fast. Nathanos would be jealous of this creature's speed. But the heat still courses my veins. It still breathes with every beat my heart reaps.

Clank, the man flies backward. Not fast enough. He –

"I have been waiting a long time for this, imbecile!" From the shadows, a second assassin emerges. Arrows rain from her bow. Swiftly, I skid behind into cover. The whispers of a downpour carry on. In a flash, they come to a close. Gentle taps fill my ears. Footsteps. She is coming.

"Do not hide from me, coward! Do –" Clank, I spin, crashing my shovel into the leaping harpy mid-air. She flies, smashing into a wall. A cloud of dust chases her to the ground.

Stillness.

To my side, more footsteps. This is one is slow, but he carries a big sword. A really big sword. Swoop, slash, this one wields only his strength. There are no words – only bravado. Only the acting of his steel and his might.

I parry, but my arms rattle. We both stumble – the strength matched. But I am faster. I leap forward, shovel raised. Clank, an arrow blocked. The two return from behind. They try to surround me. Clank, another after another. They try to outnumber me.

But the heat courses my veins.

 _We did not come this far too fail!_

They circle me, each one wielding their weapons. A set of axes a set of long blades a daunting sword – they prepare for melee. But they are abominations. They are monsters. They wield nothing more.

 _Fight on!_

I inhale. The world trembles. I exhale. I ram my shovel into the earth. The world quakes. Blinding light drowns everything for but a fleeting moment. When it clears the three stagger they stumble and they flee. But it is not in my power alone – the break to the cries of one-hundred Forsaken upon my heels.

Broken and beaten, the undead flee. Dozens upon dozens scurry in fear, plucked down by our skilled archers. Many still make it in safety, but the damage is done. They are defeated. They hill is ours. The stage, the play: completed.

Stillness the final curtain.

With that, I take a deep breath. I let the adrenaline drain from my body. I exhale.

Rustling draws my attention, and I notice a wounded creature at my side. I frown with disgust, marching towards the beast. With a gentle kick, I roll it over. A man clad in faded gold and tarnished silver – a paladin in his past life, I suppose. Now he is an abomination. I lift my shovel. He is nothing more.

"Please, don't," he whimpers, raising his arms to shield his face. I freeze. My arms lock and my eyes widen ever-so-slightly. He…he is an abomination. My shovel trembles in my hands. "Don't kill me." He…he…is nothing more…

Twang, clank, the creature jerks violently. I gaze into his eyes as impact seals his fate. A sense of discomfort, of sorrow fills me as his body catches up to the dice rolled for him. For a moment, he stares back. His life fades from his abominable eyes. Darkness drapes over his nothingness. For a moment, I stand, shaking. In his eyes, I saw something different, something an abomination shouldn't have: fear…

"What are you standing around for, Worm?" I hear him, but I cannot break my gaze on the man before me. He…he…was different. He wasn't an abomination. Abominations don't beg for their lives. They don't- "Worm? Don't make me come over there –"

"Why did you do that, Nathanos?" My mouth opens uncontrollably, the words spill out wildly.

"Excuse me, Worm?"

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Shoot him."

"Ha! More tricks, I see. Desperation at that, Worm." He chuckles, turning away and marching up the hill. "Now come on, while you were busy fighting those fools, I was able to keep the rest of this post from escaping." Again he cackles. "More importantly, I found something you should see."

For just one more moment, I stare down at faded gold and tarnished silver. I guess it really doesn't matter. Abomination or not, he truly is nothing more. With a heavy sigh, I take off after the hovering man. The hill is long, and endless. It seems to go on forever. And ever. And ever. For some reason, I feel…tired…

"Over here, Worm," I pant as the faceless man calls to me. Wiping my brow and catching my breath, I try to fight the fatigue, but it is so strong. I take a quick glance at the tower. Nothing unusual there. I continue on, and as I do, my heart races once more. Standing near the base is a man draped in black. He points out in the woods below, yet glares intently only at me.

I cast my gaze in the direction of his mangled claw, seeing nothing but endless, wretched forest. After a moment, I catch sight of something. I cannot make out – no. No, I can see it now. I –

"What did I tell you, Worm?" he snarls. "A wretch, a damn liar, and what do you know? A damnable member of the Damned. I know my people, Worm. I know them all too well."

The words hit hard, and I try to ignore them. But I can see it. As I gaze, a strange chill creeps up my spine. I remember it. It is a distant memory, but I cannot forget it. From Northrend, it has chased me; it has hunted me.

I try to resist it, but…but the sight strikes my defenses weak. And I am so tired. Slowly, steadily, it pools in my shoulders, skitters around my sides, and slithers into my chest. How frightfully frigid the fingers that stoke at my heart.

With them an icy wind playfully stabs at my cheeks…whispering…

 _My child…_

Is this real? Is any of this real? It doesn't even make sense any more.

 _My son…_

This sight is beyond my worst nightmare. I would rather see an army of undead waiting, or the Lich King himself, but this? It…it cannot be real…

 _My champion…_

Standing before me are strong eyes…

 _There must always be…_

…a smile that could melt this horrible frost…

 _…the one true king._

...red flowing hair. There has to be a reason. She cannot be there. She cannot be out there, amid an army of black robed monsters and a pack of undead at her side. She cannot. This is just an illusion. But there she is. No. It is a lie. It is a lie.

 _It is your destiny._

No! It is a lie!

 _Death…is your destiny…_

She…is a lie…


	8. We Three

This…this isn't real. It has to be a trick; another wicked conjuration of the corrupt king. There is no other explanation. Nathanos is wrong. He has to be wrong. He has to -

"Worm," stabs Nathanos' rusty voice, "come. We will gather a small force and take care of these little vermin." His feet softly beat the dead soil, his words trailing in the dry dust. "I will line them up, one-by-one, let them tell me their little stories and BAM. Off with their heads. Ha." Further and distant, the man speaks, but he sounds a continent away.

My mind is locked on the clearing, on the eyes that gaze back, at the red-flowing hair. This has to be a trick. Without a single thought, I move forward. The air is light, gentle on the skin, yet bitter and cold. It draws with its sweet hands, pulling with crisp, cool fingers. It pulls me towards it, towards the red-flowing hair.

So wrought with determination, a lapse in judgment tugs at my legs – fiercely. Caught upon the strings of gravity, I grow as weightless as the wind, yet as heavy as a boulder. Downward I plummet. Downward, towards an inevitable fate, yet my heels dig in.

Remarkably I keep myself balanced and controlled. With a thud, I grow still- composed and intact. I don't have a clue how I did that, but it was as if natural.

That means little. All that is important is that clearing and that red, flowing hair. Alas, the forest is thick and dense. Only an image in my mind and murmurs of the woods guide me now. It is all I need.

I move swiftly, yet hesitate as the emerald shore of the thicket creeps in upon me. The air is heavier now, but a delightful touch still trails its tendrils. I stop, drawing on a deep breath before I plunge into the murky depths.

In moments, my reality is consumed: nothing but the barky waves, leafy seas, and crashing grass are mine to embrace. Further in, and all I can see are the same trees over-and-over. It is surreal. I am moving, yet it feels as if I am standing still.

The air is dense, its hands caked with ice and grit. Onward I go, deeper, only the image in my mind and the murmurs of the woods. It feels like a life-time passes by, lost in these woods. Then, just as doubt begins to crawl across the confines my mind, it ends.

I take a deep breath. The air is heavy, stinging barbs bristle and bore against my soft skin. My image is destroyed, replaced by a field of purple runes and black-robed figures. Once quiet murmurs are drowned by the chanting of a dozen voices.

Before me rests a small collection of shrouded members, all kneeling upon the ground, their hands pressed together as they pray to whatever dark creature dare listen. An aura of ice and death permeates the air, smothering any source of life that dare sprout here.

Every part of me says to turn around, to run. Yet the image in my mind, of red, flowing hair, jerks ever-so-delicately at my core. There is no turning around now. I must see if it is real. I must see.

Slowly, dragged down by the dense, dreary wind, I heave a foot forward. Crunch: a tidal wave of gasps floods the skies. The hairs on my neck draw on end. They are looking at me. All of them. But I cannot stop now.

With a heavy sigh, I press on. Kneeling figures gawk at me in awe, only to break as I push past. Others ignore my existence, still whispering to their wicked idols. A few tremble, barely able to keep themselves composed. From here, I can almost taste their fear.

I understand, of course. This is not my first time coming across these types: these Cultists of the Damned. Miserable people, bent on praying to a false king. I don't know what drives them, but I do know quite well how to stop them.

It is different, though, when dealing with them. Unlike the undead, these folk are still quite alive. It just isn't the same to have to kill a breathing person that is full of emotions. Nathanos always told me to pretend they wanted it – that they wanted to die. Sometimes that helped. Sometimes…

No lie detracts from the obvious truth. though: they are still very much alive.

"Hope?" Swept across the icy air, a gale of tranquility comes to kiss at my cheek. "Hope, can you hear me?" My dry, tired eyes fall upon the gleaming gem in the dark. Red hair, green eyes, the body sculpted from marble and fueled with life by a marvelously generous titan, she shifts through the pack, stopping short of my toes.

Alas, her visage is warped by the interlopers slithering at her heels. Three faceless monsters, all draped in thick black leather or clad in heavy armor, hiding their faces from the world. The same three from the gates. Cowards: I would end their suffering if she would just let me.

"Hope, are you still there?" A strange combination of confusion and severity weighs down her otherwise pleasant words. It is almost as if she doubts who I am. At the same time, when I see who stands at her back, I feel quite the same way. "Hope, if you can hear me, please –?"

"What are they doing here?" While the words spill from my lips, the voice that forms seems not of my own. This air is harsher on my throat than I imagined.

"Hope, please, we need to speak to you."

"Why?" I snap.

"Why?" Pain dances off her tongue and weeps from her eyes. "Hope, please just hear them out. We just want to help you. That is all we want. To free you from your burden. To free -"

"Free me from what, _witch,"_ anger becomes me, "you are trying to trick me. Nathanos was right. He told me you were lying, that you just wanted to use me, and look at this?!" I present the truth to her. "You bring me to here?! To join your little Cult of the Damned?"

Confusion massacres her face. Her mouth opens, but stops. It would seem that she is has been caught in one of her own lies. Desperately she glances back at one of her lackeys. The dark figure fidgets with the axes at his side, alerting me to his possible insanity.

"OK, you idiot," the faceless bastard barks, "I am going to tell you this once: stop being stupid. Stop. _Now._ "

"Excuse me?" I cannot contain myself. "Who, exactly, do you think you are?"

"Who do I think I am? Who do you think I am?!" He lurches forward, hands on his blades.

"Enough," Jessica interjects. "That is quite enough –"

"No, you said he would listen, but this has gone on long enough. We do this my way." The middle figure, a curvy figure with a large bow upon her back halts the others. From her stance and a set of piercing, ruby eyes, I can feel her presence and power. "Listen, imbecile, don't make this harder than it has to be. Lay down your weapon, and we will give you a swift, merciful death."

"Oh really?" I scuff. "What if I were to tell you the same?"

"You wouldn't stand a chance."

"Just like at the gates back there?"

"We were holding back, fool," frustration settles in upon her, "we will give you that death you so seek!"

"Why don't we test that resolve, hmmm?"

"You little shi-!"

"Hope, my boy," from the third figure, the armor-clad man, a calming bay spills forth. The others hesitate as he speaks. "Look deep inside. I am not certain what you see, or what lies have warped that mind of yours, but you must be strong. Look deep inside, past the doubt, the anger, the confusion, and the uncertainty. Deep, Hope, deep."

What is he rambling about? What is he trying to achieve? He is deceiving me. He has to be…

"Fight the chill, Hope. Fight the strangling darkness. Fight past it all. Go deep inside, to what makes you, you." That voice. I feel as if I have heard it before. It is so familiar, yet on the tip of my tongue. So familiar, yet a continent away…

"You can still feel it, can't you?"

He…is trying to trick me…

"Go to it, my boy. Let it you free–"

A twig snaps to my rear. Immediately, I spin, shovel at the ready. My heart is calm, composed, yet chilled by the air. Emerging from the thicket, is a pair of figures. They come in fast. It is a trap. It was always a trap!

"Hope, stop!"

I leap forward, a spade hung.

"HOPE!"

Clank, I strike the monster upon the side of the head. It stumbles and topples. A soft smack screams so loudly. Chills rush across my body. My mouth opens, but I cannot muster a word. I watch in horror as the golden hair spills across the ground. Gold and silver are tarnished. I move to him. I don't even feel my feet stir, but I am at his side.

I scoop him into my arms, holding him as he gasps for air. In his eyes, I see once more a great paladin. We have met only a few times, yet I feel like we have known each other forever. I search him for his straight, content existence. I search his normally gleeful eyes. This time, however, he screams not of life, but of a chilling reality.

"…he must…resist…" his words are chased by a calming smirk that almost hides the haunting truth. Such simple words. They sing a thousand tales upon a trickling amount. For a moment, I gaze into his overwhelming existence. Fleeting, spent by the cold air and cruel justice, the smirk fades. With it, the kindness weeps from his eyes.

A horrific chill stabs at my heart. It passes from the still paladin and devours me. It is cold.

It is so…cold…

"You…you won't be able to bury him, Hope…" whimpers the bony, brown-robed man that casts a dreary shadow upon us. He simply stands, peering down at the man and the boy. We three, as it has always been.

Yet now it is cold…

So…very…cold…

The world rocks. It tilts. It spins. Fuzzy and surreal, my own legs don't seem real anymore. A horrific knot sends nausea pangs throughout my person. Dazed, confused, I leap upon staggering feat. I carry on, going nowhere. The clearing vanishes behind me. Images are blurred. I don't even remember why I came here.

All I can see is red…flowing…hair…

Who...who does it belong to...?

A fist clenches in my stomach. Nausea fills my gullet. I vomit. Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong. But all I can feel is this chill that burns fiercer and fiercer.

I carry onward. I don't know why. I don't know where. I do so until my body grows weak. Forward, until I crumple onto the hard, unforgiving earth. No longer is it cold, but something worse. My veins turn to ice. My heart is chilled to numbness.

Darkness slowly creeps in. With it, a gentle frost that nips at my icy skin. Amid its epicenter is a pair of gleaming blue eyes that spill aquamarine flames into the havens. From them, a voice crafted of death, of horror, calls to me.

"This was always your destiny, my son," the eyes fade, leaving in their wake a lone voice that rips at my soul. "Death was always and will forever be your purpose, my child…my _champion._ "


	9. My Purpose

_Hold in formation!_

The haze surrounds us. It is as thick and dense, a proverbial sea of ice. A snapping chill bites to the bone. A few worn, tired soldiers stand upon the precipice of damnation. Pit upon its terrace is the bearer of death.

 _Do not succumb to fear! The King must fall!_

Fear is around us. It feeds on us. It is what makes him so strong and us so frail. It is what drives us to mistakes and to our deaths. It is what makes us fail…

 _We did not come this far to fail! Charge!_

Yet it is what keeps us fighting – what keeps us charging even when the outcome is obvious. And how we charged, even when we thought all was lost.

 _Fight on! For the Argent Crusade! For everything you hold dear!_

With a single purpose in mind: to protect everything we hold dear. The single ideal to why we stood upon that tower, staring out upon the dark vast nothingness, when we knew what our fates would be. It is that single purpose that kept us strong, driven by our fears of what may come.

 _For great justice! For the Light!_

The light…the light was a lie. There was no light guiding us that day. No glimmer of hope, no beacon of sanctity that steered us through the nothingness. Only our own dread; our fear of failure; our terror of what justice would be dealt if we didn't deal our own.

 _We did it! We did it, my boys!_

For a brief moment, it felt so real: that victory. It was but a moment, but how delightful it was. I would love to return to it. If only for a single, fleeting instance…

 _We-wait. Something is wrong. What is it doing?_

 _What is this?! Retreat! RE-_

Black flames swirling all around us. The crown spilling those wicked fumes into the air, corrupting consuming chaotically crafting the truth of the moment. We didn't know what to do. Soldiers fled in horror. Heroes attempted to stop the nightmare, but the metallic instrument sucked their soul straight from their living bodies.

 _What is happening?! The Scourge…the Scourge are everywhere!_

Armies of the grotesque monsters erupted from the ground. We watched atop our pedestal in horror as the legions multiplied at terrifying rates. They maimed, murdered, and destroyed everything in their wake. There was no logic no reason no purpose only utter destruction.

 _What are we to do?!_

None of us knew. We were afraid. Afraid for our lives; afraid for fear's sake; afraid of what we knew would come – most importantly: afraid for the one's we held dear. So we threw ourselves at that crown. We perished.

But we did so out of fear…

For everything we hold dear.

And as more and more fell, panic set in. The fear drove us to recklessness. I, of course, was no exception. But the fear. The dread. The horror encased in our failure.

So I did what I had to do. I raised my shovel, using it as a brace. I pressed forward, towards the wicked helm. I inhaled. The runes flickered. The flames swirled, they lashed, and they burned. I exhaled. I did what I had to do…

Out of fear…

 _You were destined for it, my child._

Cast from a frozen coast, the winds drag with it a voice as dark and frigid as death. I can feel the icy tendrils thrashed from every syllable. I can taste the wickedness and the cruelty with every echoing word.

 _You are my child._

Pounding, throbbing, burning, the words are tremors of torment, beating at my mind.

 _You are my son._

Stop.

 _You are my champion.…_

"No! Stop it!" Dry and harsh, a voice echoes across the frozen frigid forest and fevered fields. "I am not your champion!" What a cold and empty call – one I can barely recognize. "I am not your champion!" It seems so far away, yet it is my own.

 _You are my child. You are my son. You are death._

"Lies! You are nothing! You are just a voice in my head!"

 _How can you say that, my boy?_

"Don't call me that. Stop calling me that."

 _There is no denying what you are, my son. You have always been my child, my son. The son of death. You are death._

"I am not! Take your lies and go away!"

 _Hiding will not change what you are nor who you are. No matter what you do, you will always be my child. You will always be my son. You will always be dea–_

"NO! NO! NO!" Dead grass screams beneath my heavy feet. Air snaps at my cheeks. The world is heavy, a suit of armor dragging me down. Cold hands wrap around me. They give me the only comfort I can taste, and how woeful that is. In their clutches, the dark voice whispers the same lines over, and over, and over, and over –

 _You are my child._

 _You are my son._

 _You are death._

"Stop calling me that! Leave me alone. Get out of my head!"

 _Stop running, my child. You have run long enough. Time for you to accept your destiny. Time for you to accept your purpose…_

"My purpose," I grumble, my encumbered body staggering halfheartedly through the woods, "my purpose isn't yours, you…you monster."

 _Monster? Is that what you think I am? Or is that what they told you?_

"You were a necromancer," icy air is all I can taste, "Nathanos killed you. You had to be stopped. Nathanos -

"Worm," his voice ripples across the horizon, envelops the heavens, and dies on my ear, "I killed him for a reason, Worm." Before me stands a faceless man draped in black – appearing on cue as he always has. "Like you, Worm, he served a purpose. His was sacrificing everything he had to make sure you were safe." His words crash like frozen waves, and I cannot absorb them.

"Worm," he says flatly, emptily, "I killed your father for you."

"I-I don't understand," the edges of reality ripple and roll – a fish in a bowl. My mind is hazy and blurred. I cannot comprehend what he is saying. I…I cannot…

"With his death, Worm, you started out on a great journey: one that tested your resolve; one that pit you against the elements of survival; one that showed you what this world had to offer; one that granted you a taste of what life has to offer." He comes closer. I can almost feel his frosty breath. "Yet you still gravitated towards one thing, one idea, one…purpose. Do know what that is, Worm?"

I shake my heavy, tired head.

"Death," he says flatly. Emptily.

My mouth opens. A thousand words bloom, only to die upon the chilled winds. No matter what I think, I all I can hear is his voice, that one word: Death. No matter how I try to fight it, I cannot resist it. For in the end, he is, as he always been, right.

"The truth silences you, Worm. As it should. But it is nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to fear. It is what you were born into, what you lived your entire life amongst, what you seek when the world is filled with vibrant, glorious life. It is where you feel comfortable. It is why you are still here. Still among the fields of the dead. Still…home."

This _is_ my home. It has always been my home. I never knew why. Even when there was nothing but rot and decay, I still called it home. I just never knew why…

"Then why fight it, Worm?" His tongue stays while his eyes scream for an answer.

"Fight what?" I feebly reply.

"What you were born to do?"

My mouth opens. A thousand words bloom, only to die.

"Why fight it, Worm?"

 _It is your destiny._

My mouth opens. A thousand words bloom, but only a few escape my darkened maw. They are mumbled and slurred.

"Excuse me, Worm?"

Again my mouth opens. Again only mumbles.

"Worm, do speak up. Not going to be able to understand you if –"

"I'm not…a monster..," it takes my entire person to throw those few, hollowed words upon the sky. In its wake, a profound silence follows. In its wake, a piercing set of eyes stab into my soul.

"Excuse me, _Worm_?" His eyes tear into my soul. I cannot recognize his face behind those terrible eyes.

"I'm not a monster," dead grass crunches beneath my feet as they scrap across the rotted forest floor, "That…that is not…my destiny."

"Worm," frustration claws at his words, "this is getting old."

Onward I trek, with no purpose, no destination.

"Where do you plan to go? What do you plan to do?"

He is at my side; following me, his eyes always stabbing, stabbing, stabbing.

"If you keep fighting, Worm, it is only going to get worse for you."

Further, only the forest ahead of me, and a single image in my mind. It is blurred and fuzzy, an ancient visage that is faded from age. Nothing in it is recognizable, say for a single hue.

It is bright.

It is beautiful.

If only I could remember what it is.

"Worm, this is not funny," agitation buds upon his lips.

But I don't care. My mind is shaken. My body aching. Only the forest and the broken image in my mind. If only I could remember what it is, what it was. Alas, it feels like an entirety since I last saw it…

"Worm!" Anger is born. "Obey me! OBEY ME!"

Only the forest…and one…single…color…

"Hope," warm hands flutter upon gentle words. They wrap around my ears; they hug my body; they squeeze so gently. I turn, stopping to behold what I thought lost. "Hope, can you hear me?"

Standing before me, holding in a small clearing, the air around her seemingly glowing, is a sculpture. Strong eyes stare upon me, etching at the frosty ice; silky skin shimmers in the shaded sun; a smile that melts the ice from my bones – and red, flowing hair. Red…

"Hope, please." I am drawn to her. With whatever energy I can muster, I throw myself at the glimmering angel. An entirety is born and dies before I arrive at her side, yet I do not care. I would die a thousand times just to see her again. Simply standing in her presence makes it all worthwhile.

"Hope, can you hear me?"

I muster a weak, pathetic nod.

"I knew you were still there," her smile stretches ear-to-ear. There is so much joy, so much happiness. "They said you were taken. They said you were consumed like Arthas. They said you were…lost…"

My mouth opens. A thousand words bloom. "I.." it takes so much to speak. "I…am lost…cold…" my eye shift in their sockets, sweeping the unbelievable sight that still blesses my presence. "So…cold…"

Tears well in the corners of her eyes. Her lips tremble. She…is crying. Why is she crying? Was it something I said? Was it something I did? The last time she cried, it was because of me. Why? Oh. Yes. I remember now.

My mouth opens. A thousand words bloom. "Pamela…"

Once more, my angel begins to weep. It is because of me. For a second time, I have made her cry. But I stopped it before. How did I? Ah. Yes. That is right. My arm raises slowly. I extend it forward, creeping across the sky. There is no way I can manage enough strength to move it any further.

Instead, I reach out a lone finger. It drags upon the air, hangs for a long, lingering moment, before gliding against her silky skin. I grab a single tear and wipe it from her cheek. To my disappointment, I cannot feel her warmth. Only the frosty, bitter air.

Why is it so cold? Why –

Slowly I retract my hand, only to lock in motion. There upon my lone finger, is a glimmering gem. There, upon my finger, is a bead of sparkling water. Her tear. It is frozen…

"I warned you, Worm," my arm snaps downward. Controllably, my hand shifts, my fingers wrap around neck.

"Hope," she bleats, "Hope, what are you –" soft, silky skin crumples beneath my frozen fingers. "Hope –" wheezes barely escape her lungs as I rip the flower effortlessly from the cold, dead ground. Tighter and tighter I squeeze. Her arms flail. Her legs kick. I…I am hurting her…

"It didn't have to come to this, Worm," his voice reeks of hatred, of disgust…of death…

The words drown my mind. They destroy the glow that my angel once radiated. They…destroy her. I destroy her. I want to stop. I want to, but I cannot. I am hurting her. I-

"She is a liar. She is a wretch. She is a _monster_."

No. Stop! Stop, please! She cannot breathe!

"This what she deserves, Worm. And so do you."

The light fades from her. Her actions falter. The once glorious glow vanishes. She…is dying. I am killing her. I am killing her! Why can't I stop!? Why?!

"This is what you were born to do, Worm."

With her fading light, an image stirs behind her. A being born of pure darkness, a set of burning blue eyes a contradiction to his empty damnation. From him, a frigid voice stabs at my soul.

 _You were born for this, my child._

I want to save her! Please!

 _You were created for this, my son._

Stop! Stop!

 _You were destined for this, my champion._

In my hand, she grows still. Once strong eyes fade; silky skin freezes in the darkness; a smile that could melt the ice from my bones is but a distant memory. Red flowing hair hangs lifelessly against my arm, while her delicate outstretched hand reaches silently for my mercy – her final living plight. But there is no mercy left in me.

All that remains is my purpose.

It is why I was created.

It is my destiny…

I…am death...


	10. The True King

For a brief moment, it felt so real: that victory. For a brief moment, I thought we had actually won. Oh, how sweet that instance was. If only it wasn't so fleeting…so hollow…so cold…

 _We-wait. Something is wrong. What is it doing?_

 _What is this?! Retreat! RE-_

Black flames were swirling, slicing, slashing, consuming, and devouring everything in their wake. We tried to stop it. We wanted so badly to stop it. But we weren't strong enough.

 _What is happening?! The Scourge…the Scourge are everywhere!_

Uncontrollable monsters, born from our nightmares, swept the lands below our feet. They seemed so close, yet they were beyond our reach. We were helpless to stop them. We watched, hopelessly….

 _What do we do?!_

None of us knew. We were afraid. Afraid for our lives; afraid for fear's sake; afraid of what we knew would come; afraid for the one's we held dear. Cold and afraid, with only one horrible call in our mind: death. We had to try. We had no other choice.

But we did so out of fear…

For everything we hold dear.

Futilely, we fought the billowing flames. Wanton, black claws, designed to tear the souls from a living body, lashed out upon us. We were weak. We were too weak. _They…_ were weak…

Mustering what little I had left, I took my shovel into hand. Forward I pressed, the claws unable to break me. Through the black flames I fought. Through the flames until the helm rested in my hands. Where the others failed, I succeeded. Where they failed, I overcame. Where they failed…so too did I.

But I did what I had to…

 _Hope. Hope!_

Out of fear…

 _Hope. Stop!_

For everything I held dear…

 _HOPE! NO!_

It was so heavy. In my hands, the empty sockets shouted a million tales. In my hands, the voices called to me. They beckoned.

 _It is your purpose…_

It was so heavy, yet it fit so perfectly.

 _It is your destiny…_

It was as if built just for me…

 _It was why you were created._

They shouted. They yelled. They cried for me to stop. But it was so heavy. It fit so perfectly. It was built just for me. It was my destiny…

 _You are the one true king…_

I am death.

"You will not take another life, imbecile!" The nightmare is shattered by a banshee's wail. I am knocked to my side. Staggering, I stumble to a stop. My feet catch the dry dirt. They snag upon the cold, dead grass. Before he holds a dark woman draped in black. "Your reign ends here, monster!"

Her arms are fast. Streaks of black hiss past my ear. Before I can react, she leaps at me. Strong legs snap at my chest. She twirls, dances upon the air, lands upon her feet. Her arms are fast. More arrows sent. Her legs are faster.

But I am death.

A shovel catches the banshee. She skips skids upon the earth lands upon her stomach. I turn, but she is not finished. She is not weak. Arrows chatter tales of death. Swords hum odes of woe. It is as if she is everywhere. Her arms her fast. Her legs are faster.

But I am death.

Again she tumbles. A tree stops her. This time, she grows still. She grows still. She…grows cold. My cold heart freezes with intensity. I turn, surveying the world around me. Around me are hundreds of figures.

Forsaken soldiers collide against beings draped in black. Faded gold and tarnished silver clashes against the banner of the Lady. A war has erupted. Yet, it is all meaningless. It is all meaningless.

"You will not beat me, imbecile!" Finely strung string is stretched. It whines as it is cocked. The wood from which it is perched whimpers. A final steel tip stares me in my eyes. "Consider your reign over, _Goldfish_!"

With her words, a strange surge catches my body. Her eyes ignite, spilling red, ruby flames into the air. I remember those eyes. I remember – red. Red!

"Jessica," I mumble, my voice heavy, deep, unrecognizable.

A look of utter bewilderment becomes the banshee in black. Frustration flutters upon her eyes. She is confused. She is smitten. Whatever thoughts cross her mind, she is consumed by them. She is meaningless. All that matters is the red. I must find _her._ I must save my angel.

I turn, pushing onward. It doesn't matter where. As long as I can stop what I have done. As long as I can make sure she is safe then I will keep her from me. I will keep her from death…

"Imbecile!" The banshee screams at my heels. "Do not turn your back from me!" Onward, the banshee's voice but a faint cry. "Stop him, commander! Stop him!" Let her throw whatever she can at me. Let her throw her entire army. I do not care. I will not be stopped. I-

Gentle pings scream against my thick, impenetrable skin. Pouring down, the soft smacks break my balance. I raise a lone arm, absorbing the blows. It feels as if the banshee had indeed unleashed an entire force upon me. A small army, yet it is but one man.

Such ferocity, such vigor, he is unmistakably a lone army. He stands before me, challenging my very existence with his own. He is powerful. He is unwavering. He is mighty.

But I am death.

Shovel raised. Runes flicker. A flame of pure darkness is birthed and dies in an explosion of black flames. Yet he hovers upon the field. More arrows rain. He closes in. Axes drawn at the ready. He hacks. He slashs.

Such ferocity, such vigor, he is unmistakably a lone army. He is powerful. He is unwavering. He is mighty.

But I am death.

An army is broken with a single swing. Thrown upon the air, he becomes nothing but a fleeting moment. However, he too is stubborn. "Damn you, you nitwit," he growls, stumbling to his feet, "I am going to shove that shovel so far up your ass, Worm, that you are going to vomit dirt and iron."

I stop. I gaze upon the faceless man. He staggers towards me, bow drawn. Yet all I can hear are his words. All I can see is the dirt. All I can see is that single mound and her. That grave we dug. That grave we dug together…

"Jessica," my word is clear. Once more, I leave my enemy in my wake. Let him come after me. Let me attempt to stop me. Try as he might, he will not stop me. Not until I know the truth. Not until I can save her from death…

Into the fray I storm, yet I fight not. Let them have their little war. Let them have their wage their endless struggle. It is meaningless. All of it meaningless. Nothing will stop me. Nothing can stop me.

"Hope," stepping into my path, daring to challenge my very thoughts, a man slows my pace, "I cannot let you hurt her. You have done enough." A glistening sword challenges. It warns of defense, of destruction, of its sole purpose. It is chaos. It is entropy.

But I am death.

Yet his words sing such a soft song. They speak of the same purpose that I too have been driving. I believe he talks of her. Of the one I must protect. "Jessica," a distant, dark cry, yet it is my own.

The sword hovers. They man's face is lost in his own dilemmas. His blade glimmers. It shimmers with chaos. It shines with entropy. Yet it lowers. It lowers in my wake. With a single hand, he points out into the distance. He dares not stop me. But I am death. He could not stop me if he wanted to.

My pace is quickened. My goal is near. I can feel it. It is close. I must know the truth. I must save her. I must know of her existence, so I can hide myself from her. I will get as far away as I can. That is the only way. That is the only way she can be safe from death.

"Worm," that horrid voice snaps at my mind. "Worm, what are you doing?"

I will not lower myself to his existence. He is why I am here. Why I have to do this. If not for him then she would be safe.

"Worm, where are you going? You are so close to ending this, why ruin it now?"

"Jessica," it is all I know.

"Still with that whore?" Agitation bleeds from his tongue. "Do you plan to live in denial forever, Worm? You know what you did, right?" Angrier with every spit. "You killed her, Worm. You killed her."

"No," I hiss. He lies. She is still alive. I know it.

"Stop lying to yourself, Worm. She is dead. You killed her. You watched her die!"

"No."

"With those bare hands, you snuffed the life from her little body. You crushed her windpipe. She suffocated, Worm."

"No."

"She died, Worm."

"No."

"You killed her. You. Killed. Her - !"

"NO!" Clank, a soft sound chases the shadow of a man into a rock. He slides against the jagged stone, growing limp upon the sharp edges. A look of shock and awe becomes him as he becomes motionless.

 _This is your destiny, my child._

I twist, finding the source of that wicked call. Looming in my shadow, his accursed blade gleaming in the dark air stands the false king tall and proud. My _father._

 _Do not stop know. You are so close to fulfilling your purpose. Finish it. End them._

I hear his words, but they die upon my ear. With a single step, I usher in my defiance. He grips his blade with both hands, readying for battle. It is what he has been waiting for. I can see it in his empty, flaming eyes. It is what he has been preparing for. I can taste it from the wanton smirk plastered upon his cruel jaw. He stands tall. He stands proud.

I lunge at the false king. Dead grass erupts beneath my heels. Our blades screech our battle. Every strike shakes the earth and shatters the heavens. All other sounds are devoured in our stead. The world is drowned in the battle. He has been waiting for this. He has prepared.

I stumble to the rear. He swipes at my left. Swiftly I leap to the right, countering at his side. A parry and feint. He has been waiting. He is prepared.

Blades clash. The world quakes. The heavens tremble. He stands tall. He holds himself proud.

But. I. Am. Death.

With a single blow, he tumbles to a rest. His sword lies motionless at his side. A crown resting in the dirt. Shattered and broken, there will be no flames conjured this time. Of this I am certain. He stood tall. He stood proud.

But I –

"Hope," that…that voice. "Hope, is that you?" As if my will is not my own, I turn, embracing the harp. Its melody is as sweet as the painting. Alas, she looks wounded. She is slow. She looks weak. Yet the light still radiates from her. She…is alive…

"Hope," she coughs. My frozen heart nearly twitches as she suddenly stumbles. She would have fallen. She would have hit the ground. But I catch her. I save her. In my arms she is safe. To repay me, she casts those strong eyes upon me. She melts my ice with her beautiful smile. "Can you hear me, Hope?"

"Yes," I cast my eyes upon hers. Mine fall, catching the dark marks on her neck. They are what I did. "I…am…sorry…"

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Hope. He made you do it. I know he did."

"I…" I mumble. She is right. He made me do it. That damn voice. If it weren't for it, I wouldn't have hurt her. I want to tell her that, but the words bloom and die on my tongue.

Yet I can see her forgiveness in her eyes. "Hope," she whispers, my sweet angel, "may I ask you a question?"

I nod.

"Would you like to see the world? Like we talked about?"

I nod.

"Then you remember how, right? It is simple."

Though icy, my heart churns. Though frozen, my body stirs with excitement. I recall precisely what I have to do. There is no possible way I could forget. And how she does not let me.

Soft, gentle hands press against the sides of my head. So delicate is her touch that they flutter as feathers upon my frozen flesh. With all her might she draws in. Her mouth is close to mine. I can almost taste those supple lips. Heat radiates forth. It dances across my dry, cold skin.

"One kiss," whimpers the angel. Words vanish, lost as our lips lock. How marvelous the sensation. Heat surges through my veins. A once icy heart is fired into existence. A song of delight, of passion fuels my chilled paths.

We are one. If only a fleeting moment, it is an eternity spread across this beating span. Time itself freezes, lost in our awe. My hands plunge into those meadows of red. Delicate fingers scrape against my numb skin. If only a fleeting moment, it is perfect.

The weight of the world feels as if lifted from my shoulders. My body grows light. I am a feather, reborn by one matching so. Even she too grows light. Even she…too…grows limp…

My eyes break, the eternity lost. The world seems different. There is a different light cast upon it. It is grayer, darker, yet as if some sort of sick paradox, it is brighter. Alas, in my arms the world seems far from that.

In my arms, rests a still, motionless angel; once strong eyes are lost behind their pale lids; purple lips tell no tales to melt the ice; red flow is matted against my arms –silky, white skin holds in their hands a burden no person should ever bear: the Lich King's crown.

Once more, my heart begins to freeze. Once more, my veins turn to ice. My trembling hands pluck the metal helm from the woman's still grip. I pause briefly, struck dumb by the sight of my own quaking fists. They are not my own, but a set of thick iron. Gauntlets: layered in spikes and caked with skulls. The armor of the dead, and I am covered in it, yet it pales to the dark crown that stares back at me.

Those empty sockets that once burned bright.

It is so heavy.

Yet it fit me so perfectly.

It is so heavy…

With all my might, I heave the horrid creation from my sight. It is gone. It is finally gone, yet it does little to ail my spurting chest. Pain burns where ice once numbed. Agony stabs at my quickening heart. A fire of torment jabs at my aching body. She is still. She is lifeless. I shouldn't be. She cannot be. Yet she is still. She is lifeless.

She shouldn't be. She…she cannot…

But…I…I am…death…

"WORM!" Only the dark, cruel heavens can conjure the faceless man's bay. "What have you done?!" His voice is thunderous and frightening. In its wake, a wave of heat is kindled. It grows with every word he mutters. "You are disappointing, Worm. You are a complete and utter disappointment."

I turn. Standing before me, is not a man. He is a shadow, a visage of the nightmare that once was. It is silhouette of a person, born of thick black flames. His arms, legs, torso, all of it: a cloud of darkness. Only his head holds a true shape. Only the helm reveals what he is.

Upon his head, the Lick King's crown is finely perched. From it, blue eyes burn brightly. No face, no nose, no maw from which the dark words flow. Only the crown and those wicked blue eyes. _Him._

"Look at you, you fool," he paces, circling me and my broken angel. "What did you accomplish? What have you done? Fought for nothing. In the end, all you managed is what you were born to do." He extends a black claw forward. "She is dead. You killed her. Death is all you will ever know, Hope."

The fire erupts in my chest. How the lies burn within me.

"Look around you, Hope," he spreads his arms wide, presenting the world to me. An army of paladins, clad in gold and silver, flee in numbers. On their heels, an army of undead charge – only the banner of the Scourge hung high over their heads. They come this way. They come fast. "This war is over. Thanks to you, these nuisances were finally broken. You, _Hope_. You brought death upon those who stood against us. Death is all you know, Hope."

My eyes drift, falling upon the mounds upon the battlefield. Dozens upon dozens of monsters lie scattered among the lifeless soldiers clad in gold and silver. They are dead. All of them are dead. Because of me…

 _You must not listen to him, Hope!_

That voice…I remember that voice…

 _You did not do this – he tricked you! You must believe it – he did this!_

He…he did this. The wanton fire grows wild. He did this.

"There is no reason to regret what you have done, Hope," the monster stomps closer. Bathed in black, the creature of nightmares stands before me. "It is all you have ever known. It is yours. Now, let me help you finish what you started." Once more he extends a black claw, but this time it is presented, palm open, to me. "Take it, Hope. Let me help you finish this. Take back your crown."

"No," it is harsh, yet it is my own.

"Hope, there is no reason to fear. This is your purpose…"

"No," I growl. The fire raging.

"…this is your destiny…"

"No!" A firestorm.

"…you are the one true king…"

"NO!" Unleashed upon the world, the inferno ripples forth from my metal soles. A tremor shoots outward. The army of undead comes to halt. Even the Lich King stumbles. "This is not my destiny! It is not purpose!"

Rising to my feet, I shake the very world beneath me. The army of undead falters. The Lich King winces. "I am not your child! I am not your son!" A shovel is raised. "I am not your champion!"

 _You are Hope! Blackwood!_

"I did not kill my angel!" Air whips and thrashes. The world trembles. An army of undead quivers. The Lich King stumbles. I inhale. "But I will be what you so eagerly want! I will be your death!" Upon my exhaling breath, my vision is bathed in white, and the world is drowned in light.


	11. Murderer of the Night

"Murderer!"

"Slaughterer!"

"You killed them all! You killed them all…you…you…monster!"

So many voices batter me, a freezing rain that stings like a thousand needles. They shout; they cry; they demand what we sought upon the frozen throne. Like us, the foolish few, they hunt for one thing.

"He is a vile bastard!"

"I spit on, you beast!"

"Monster!"

"Monster!"

"Monster…"

There are so many of them. So many riled souls that seem intent on one single purpose. Then again, we were no different. Upon the precipice, we too earned for it, fought for it, bled for it, died for it.

"Drag him to the ramparts! Tie a rope to his neck and toss him over the edge. Let's see how well death's head stays attached then!"

"Why don't we just skip the work and just cut it off!"

A chorus of cheers chases those wicked words. An entire army's worth of chants, all shouting for their peace; despite the means to which is earned. But I cannot judge them. It was our verdict too. It was what we wanted. It was what I wanted: justice.

"Hope Blackwood," the man's voice is calm, focused, a perfect speech seemingly wrung of emotion, yet if one listens closely enough, the truth hums ferociously, "for the following crimes against the people of Northrend, the Alliance, and every other soul in between, you have been brought before us: three hundred fifty counts of …"

The voice carries on, spewing numbers linked by stretched words that mean little to me. I know, however, that where I fail to find value, the worth is apparent. Sadly, as he draws on, one word catches my ear and twists my stomach. " _Murder."_

For a brief moment the man pauses, digesting what he silently reads, "After deliberation by your peers, countryman, and the highest of authorities, you have been found with unanimous decision on all accounts: guilty." It is with that final word where the man's unbiased demeanor is shattered, the bubbling rage spilling over.

Alas, it is as it should be. Like us, like me, we stood at the toes of a monster and we sought the same blind righteousness. And, like us, the cries of triumph filled the skies and bathed the land in our seeming victory. And, like us, we were all swiftly silenced.

Caught upon a chill breeze, the cheers and jeers are swept away, fading into a profound nothingness. Icy fingers dance across my cheeks, twirling in the growing silence. Down my back they creep, spilling frost across my body.

I go to swat at the playful, seductive claws, yet my arms disobey me. A heavy, cold grip holds loosely, yet snugly upon my wrists. It is enough to cripple. It is enough to ignite the chilled flames. It is enough…

 _Why do you fight this, my son?_

Dragged upon the soulless tendrils of the frozen wind, an empty voice whispers.

 _Why must you resist the inevitable?_

Gentle thuds ripple across my eyelids. Digits are dancing, daring my defiant lids with dainty drumming. Each beat more persistent than the last – more alluring, more irresistible. On and on they continue until my soul wretches, my eyes forcefully tear open, and the world I forgot becomes a surreal reality.

Dark, dreary light burns my eyes. It is faint, trickling in from barred windows. Crisscrossing shadows chase to my knees, stopping short as if halted in their tracks. Not even the darkness yearns to cross death's path.

Yet there are others that are not so afraid; instead they lock death away behind thick, rusty bars; blocking it from escaping. Or possibly, they bars are merely here to delay the inevitable. Regardless, it is death's prison. It is my prison.

My prison alone...

"Alone," my eyes dart to the sound. Towering over me is a figured draped in thick, brown ropes. While his body, face and all are cast in darkness, I can still feel his gaze upon. He stares into my soul, plunging with eyes alone, yet a heavy hand extends with unfettered famish. Protruding from the hung sleeve is not a bony hand as I expect, but a thick claw covered in thick, scaly plates.

A trio of fingers click together, reaching out to me, calling out with deafening silence. In their wake, his voice carries their message, "You are never alone, Hope Blackwood."

 _You are never alone._

That voice…I remember that voice…I remember…

"Hope."

 _You were never alone._

I…I remember you…

"Hope."

 _You will never be alone._

"Hope!" Clank, an angel's voice spilled among clattering metal. "Hope, can you hear me?" Warm, welcoming pockets of heat cascade across my face. They frolic down my arms and land softly upon my cheek. I turn, embracing the new sight. "Hope, please, tell me you –"

"Jessica…"

"Oh Hope," I can feel her arms wrap around me. They squeeze, flooding this cold, broken body with benevolence undue. She lingers, holding me, filling me with sensations I thought lost. I could stay like this forever. I – "Hope, I – I – I knew you were still there. I knew." Once more, silken beauty presents itself to me. A gift of monumental proportions. "Hope…" short, shattering breaths are sucked swiftly in and out of her lungs. She sniffles, hiding her unseen tears – at least trying.

"I am sorry, Jessica," choked forth, the heavy words strain my throat. But they must be said. "I didn't mean –"

"Stop," severity smothers her words and builds upon her wrinkled brow, "there is no reason to apologize." Again she pauses. This time, however, something seems to strike a sense of urgency. "Besides," she leaps to her feet. My arms shake, metal clatters, and the cold grasp sends one arm then the arm toppling to the floor. I begin to sink to my knees, but she catches me. "You can make it up to me by moving. Fast."

"Jessica –"

"We can talk later. Just move." With the will of Nathanos, the angel heaves us upon hovering heels. We move swiftly, the world a blur, the darkness streaked into a melody of blinding nothingness. My arms are numb. My chest is numb. My legs: numb. Only the soft pressure and flowing warmth give me comfort.

Hinges sing an offbeat harmony, introducing another dimly room. Again we move, again hinges sing, again another room. Over-and-over until we hit the final act. "Come on," she grunts, shaking the stubborn, locked handle. "Come on." She is flustered, impatient. "Come –"

Click, clack, the hinges sing once more, presenting a cast of suffocating darkness and a soft silhouette. I am not sure why, but my heart chills at the shape looms in our path. "My girl," I know that voice, "what took you so long?"

Jessica huffs agitatedly, pushing past the familiar figure as we move out into the unforgiving night. "Really, Uncle? Have you ever had to seduce and knock out a guard before? Do you know what that entails? Hmmm?"

"Well," he taps his chin, "I have struck out a fellow man once or twice before. Cannot recall ever having to cast a charm of sorts upon any of them, though," he chuckles, "besides, I don't think I want to, but you set your standards. You are a big girl."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She seems annoyed.

"Nothing," he replies, clearly uncaring of the woman's state. Actually, I think he may be enjoying it. " I just hope you didn't have to do anything extreme."

"Extreme? What are – wait. What? No. Ew." She smacks her lips in disgust. "You are still a pervert, Carlin."

Once more he chuckles, quieting himself as he does. "Ok. Ok. Enough of that fun." He turns, peering towards a wall. After a moment, he speaks with a firm, still voice. "We only have a few minutes until these drunken bastards realize what is happening. And we have even less once they do." His words trail upon his heel – as do we.

No lights to guide us. No faint glimmers. Only the hidden stares above and the drive of an old man's feet. Onward and onward, passed empty buildings, ducking past ones filled with life, onward and –

"Wait," Carlin snaps. Jessica's hand falls flatly against my chest. Her delicate touch halts me upon the old man's word. Both fall to the sound of crunching feet. One, no, two pairs. They are growing louder. They are coming closer.

Around the corner, moving closer and closer. I don't even know what is happening. I don't know why I am here. What I do know is the tale my heart weaves – and how raging a rhythmic rhapsody it regales. Dirt grinds. Gravel crunches. We do not move. Even as a gleaming torch lights their way. They are coming. They are –

"I don' think so!" A horrific combination of ice and fire catches my chest. I want to hide but the adrenaline bleeding into me tells me otherwise. I want to run but Jessica's nails ground all actions. Light flutters in above the stout wall we hunker against. It tells the guards where we are. It snitches! I can feel its gaze and theirs upon us. "Did you think I wouldn't notice, hmm?"

They are there. They found us. We have to get out of here. We have to!

"Really, Jon?" Snorts the second. "What in the world has gotten into you? Have you been drinking again?"

"Again? That would imply I did once before," the man named Jon huffs innocently.

"Correction: that would imply you got _caught._ "

"Ha!" Chortles Jon. "Like you are some sort of holy man of divine virtue."

"Well, I am a fine-standing paladin, of course."

A moment of silence becomes the two. Laughter shatters the stillness. "Finest drunkard of one, if I do say so myself!" Jon's words are staggered and broken between his laughs.

"The light doesn't judge, Jon!"

The two continue their little hilarity for a few more seconds, calming down into a faint chuckle. A cold wind drags upon their heaving breaths as they fill their lungs. There is an odd, eerie silence before the unnamed man softly says, "I suppose that's a lie."

"What?"

"That boy."

"Boy?" Jon growls. "He isn't a boy nor a man. He is a damn monster. Lost some of my friends to that lunatic."

"Yes. Well….

"'What what'?" Jon pauses. "Wait. Are you trying to tell me you feel sorry for him?"

"Of course not, Jon, it's just that: death knights."

"Come again, Trent?"

"Think about it, Jon. We gave the Death Knights mercy."

"So that means we have to give the Lich King himself a pass?" Jon words are lit with kindled fire. "That…that is ludicrous! Insane!" He takes a deep breath, composing himself. "I am already _so very pleased_ we have these _Knights_ as our allies, but to think we are going to let the Lich King go –

"Fine, Jon," Trent stalls the ranting, "I get it. It was just a thought." Silence. "I'll be there tomorrow anyway, like the rest of us."

"You better be," Jon playfully grunts. "I think every poor soul left on this nightmarish land is going to join us in that delightful bon fire." Light shifts and stirs. Feet grind in gravel and bite at dirt. They carry onward, spilling shadows in their wake. "Hopefully it might bring some warm inspiration to this barren waste."

Their voices carry on gently, yet are nothing to us. My chest relaxes. My body calms. I glance forward, noticing that Jessica does not seem quite so relieved. Her tightened brow and crocked lip definitely sing of worriment. I barely even notice her gently pat my chest and give me what I think is a comforting nod. I don't understand…

"Hurry up," Carlin cries a short ways ahead. It would seem that the old man is sprier than I thought. "Mograine isn't going to wait long for us. We have one shot." His voice carries as if one with the wind. The man is definitely full of secret talents.

Upon his command, we skitter to his side. A heavy wall holds to our side. The smell of mortar, stone, and death hang upon the air. Stillness becomes us. It hangs. It holds. Hinges slaughter it violently.

Without a word, we cross the darkened threshold. Black and lengthy silhouettes loiter all around. Thin, lanky arms scatter in all directions, swaying to the mercy of the icy breezes. At their thick, bark feet rest numerous mounds.

Each one of these is unique in its way: shape and size, but the stench…it is all the same. I, of everyone here, am far too familiar with it, yet it's not that smell that bothers me so. The bodies themselves…they…

"We are almost free, Hope," Jessica whispers. She stands feet planted in the ready, but her eyes stalled in the figure behind her. I give her a nod and move.

"Good," Carlin softly says, navigating once more, "the caravan is right –" his voice dies - its murderer sliding a foot upon the stone and mortar. As silent as the night, the figure stirs as but a shadow. Yet even a shadow sends ice shooting down my spine.

"So, where do you think you are running off to, hmmm, old man?" That unforgettable voice spills over the ramparts. Heavy breathes; a racing heart – the symptoms of the cascade of verbal poison. Even the stretched string and whiny bow pale in comparison to his voice. "And what about you? A coward now, eh, _Worm_?"


	12. Eternal Conflict

"Tell me, Worm," wood whimpers to unmerciful stretching string, "right between the eyes or through that juicy heart of yours?"

Odd question for Nathanos – I don't recall him ever asking first and shooting second. At least that is what Carlin told me. To be honest, I never really kept count. Never figured there was a point. Though, I do recall Carlin telling me it was just a saying or something. He told me it was a "glee say"– whatever that means-

"Really, Worm?" Nathanus grumbles. "Did I lose you that fast already?" He pauses briefly before lowering his bow in defeat. A long, disgruntled groan passes his teeth, and he leaps to the dirt with a thud.

Unnerving silence and tension strung as tightly as his bow follow in his near-hovering graces. Eyes are all upon him and his upon me. "Fine," he trots to my front and – a flash of light blinds me. Trembling knees fail me. And I fold in between myself, gripping at my tormented stomach. It feels like…he tried to…stick his fist through my body…

"Worm," he pats my back gently as if to try to comfort, "I was planning on shooting you, but that is just a bad idea. You see, the last thing I need to do is to expedite your return to the Lich King. I then thought about grazing your cheek, but then that would imply I missed you. And I don't miss." Pacing feet make one full circle. "So I figured I'd let you off easy."

"…easy?" Vomit nearly takes the opportunity to slip free with those words.

"Well, yeah. I don't explain myself to anyone, Worm. Not lightly anyway." Boney fingers help pull me upright. Not precisely what I had planned at the moment – huddling over in pain felt quite suiting. "Now tell me: where the hell are you running to?"

"! –"

"Shut up, Worm."

"But-"

"Shush." My eyes shift upon his. His piercing daggers bounce from one member of the party to the next, finally falling upon his suspecting victim. "Old man, care to answer that in as few words as possible? Make it short, mmmk?"

"No," retorts Carlin without pause.

Nathanos tightens his gaze, but says not a word.

Carlin holds steadfast, peering back into the gleaming blades.

Tighter the gaze becomes.

Unbreakable an old man does not succumb.

A siege of glares is launched.

A wall of age tenacity - the assault is staunched.

But the undead is relentless.

Yet wisdom is endless.

Onward they go, forever carrying on their little show -

"If you really must know," Jessica, a third player enters the game, "we are meeting a caravan upon the side road north – up on the little knoll."

Despite her interruption, the two do not stop their war. A long moment lingers before, "You sure she is related to you, old man?" He never breaks nor blinks. "I guess stubborn oldness doesn't run in the family."

"Give her time," Carling replies, never flinching or faltering.

With a rearward cock of his head, Nathanos' final strike is unfurled. It is a brief glare, yet filled with depraved intensity of a life time. After a moment, one last deep stare, he pivots upon his heels and hovers in the direction of another's guiding words.

"Good work, Red," he grumbles as he flows past Jessica. "But did you really need to rhyme?"

"Rhyme?" She is rather baffled. "Rhyme what?"

Nathanos carries on, ignoring the woman's question. She, however, is far from finished. With a curious tilt of her head, she gathers an expression I am all too fond of. Eyes to the ground, mumbled words fluttering from her mouth – repeating what she just said, most likely, - and a wrinkled brow with bewilderment filling each fold.

As I am lost in her state, Carlin pursues the man in black. I, for the lack of anything better, follow in his stead.

"Show and Knoll?" Jessica mumbles with a solid layer of confusion. "Is that what he is referring to? That doesn't rhyme? Does it?" Her questions are apparently directed at me. Of course, all she is getting is a shrug from me. "Bah," she huffs, her feet aligned with mine. "They don't rhyme. Not even close." She doesn't sound very convinced.

Onward we continue, the two silently struggling against each other; despite making any eye contact or saying any words. Jessica, however, is far less quiet in her internal conflict. While not every loud, she is definitely not mute in her ramblings. Nathanos does have a way of doing that. He – wait.

I stop. There was a noise. At least I thought there was. It wasn't very loud, but I am certain it was there. No one else is stopping, though. Certainly Nathanos would have heard it. Now I am just making things up.

 _You may just be hearing things._

Yes. That makes sense. Just hearing things. Now it is my turn to wear Jessica's expression. I try to push the thoughts to the back of my mind, but much like her, it truly doesn't achieve much. The doubt and confliction still linger. What is new, really?

Seems like another day, unlike any other day for me. More things for me to not understand. Just more things –

There it is again. It sounded like a whimper or something like that. Maybe it was an animal? A wounded one maybe?

 _You think it might be a person?_

No. I don't think so.

Again! That is not a person…I don't think it is a person…

 _You cannot truly doubt it now._

Yes. Yes. You are right. You have to be right. He sounds like he is hurt. Why isn't anybody else doing anything about it? It is like they don't even care.

 _You must help him._

I cannot. I shouldn't. Not without them, anyway. They would be mad if I just wandered off. Let me –

 _You don't have time – can you not hear him?_

My eyes fall upon the now distant troop before me. They are just ignoring him. How can they do that? I have to help him. Uncontrollably, I dart into the nearby woods. Twigs snap beneath my feet. Frozen dirt grinds upon my sole. Chilling air nips at my cheeks. Louder the cries become. Louder and louder until his voice is all around.

Into a clearing I stumble, overwhelmed by the man's state. Then, to my dismay, it is gone – his voice is devoured by hungering silence. The frozen air churns in my presence, whipping and thrashing, yet is eerily calm. I don't understand. How did he - ?

" _You,_ " growls a deep voice from behind. I spin, my heart nearly freezing. He stomps towards me, hand on his blade. "How dare you show up here?" He is moving in. I pack peddle, but something snags my ankle. Cold, unforgiving earth sends pangs up my hips. But they are nothing to the fury of the man looming over me, "You truly are worse than I imagined."

"I – " frosty words stick to my warm tongue.

"Don't bother speaking; I don't want to hear it." Rage, hatred, disgust: all of them are charred into his fuming voice. "I just…I…I cannot believe it." Back and forth he paces, ranting at a near delirium. "Three days: that was it. Just three days, and you had to ruin it."

"Three…three days…to what?" I can barely force my own voice out.

"'To what?' Bah! Three days until I get reposted to damn Dalaran, is what!" He waves his hand at me. Chilled air ripples softly from his thick, metal gauntlet and seemingly from the rest of him. "And then I would have had at least a couple days off this frozen wasteland." He spits at the dirt. "Three days and then…and then…" his eyes, along with his fury, burrow into the ground.

For a brief moment, his face contorts from pure anger, to tranquil peace, to wanton sadness and then…emptiness. Hallowed and void, he is utterly expressionless. A brief entirety is spread across the man's face in all but a moment. "I would have been able to go home. If only for a day. If only for a day…but that wouldn't matter, would it? There is nothing left there. You already took them. You already murdered them!"

"Murdered -?"

"All of them!" His rage is unyielding. "You took everything from me! Everything!" His sword wails upon its frozen sheathe. "You damn monster! I'll kill you!" A dull blade is swung upon justice's mercy. "I'll kill you!" Upon the pendulum, the guillotine falls. Futilely, I raise an arm to block the blow. I even wince, awaiting what is coming – what is apparently deserving.

Yet only silence becomes me. Frozen, bitter silence, driven by a brittle, icy wind.

"He will try and break you," a deep, broken voice travels upon the air. Upon its trail, a soft, yet eerie reverberation chases. I glance upwards. My heart sputters. Standing before me, draped in thick, black armor, is a tall, ghastly figure. From under a thick hood, peers down a pair of blue flames. It…it is…

"It is how he works," large gauntlets, covered in ominous skulls, descend. Before I can react, I am scooped up onto my feet. Face-to-face now, a pale skinned man stares deeply into my soul. "He will find a way into your very existence, and he will break you. Everything you stood for; everything that meant a damn to you; everything you loved – it will be you that destroys it. Whether or not it you believe it when it happens, means little. In the end: he wins. He is, after all, making the rules."

My mouth opens, but not a word slips out.

Unexpectedly, he grabs my hand. An unpleasant chill shoots down my arm as his fingers wrap with mine. The hairs crawl to their ends. My chest tightens. Yet I am not alone. Try as he might, he flinches. He holds for a minute before grunting, "I don't know from what rock these paladins dug you out from under," he releases, sweeping his hand as if burnt by fire, "but I had to see for myself.

Slowly, he rolls his fingers, examining each on as if born anew. Even as his slips his thick, metal glove back on, he stares at them, enthralled – as much as an emotionless man can be. "From here on out, I exist solely as your own personal shadow. I will watch you. I will follow you. I will observe you as he torments that thick head of yours until the day he finally breaks you. And that day, I will sever your head from your body, and bury you and every other person on this forsaken planet."

At that he turns, marching away as if trying to mimic Nathanos. "Come," his voice travels upon the bitter and brittle wind, chased by its own hallowed echo, "we have a king to dethrone."


	13. Precious Time

"Worm…why?"

"What?"

"Really, Worm? Is this what we are doing today? Bruising my non-existent knuckles on your face?"

"…I hope not?"

"Then feel free to explain to me why you decided wondering off was the best course of action."

"Well, um," I clear my throat nervously. The images of the man; the sounds of his voice; the anger; the hatred - all of it scours my sight. "I heard something – someone."

"You. Heard?"

"Yes. He was screaming loudly. I think."

Nathanos' face relaxes, the muscles retracting as if defeated. Quickly they tense, so fiercely I cannot tell if they were any different to begin with. "What the hell is wrong with you, Worm?"

"I-"

"Worm, next time you hear voices, don't go chasing them. Instead, think of what I would do."

"…"

"Precisely, Worm. Punch yourself in the face."

My mouth opens, but I don't mutter a word. While Nathanos' somewhat disturbing glare unnerves me, it isn't he that stops me. The cries, those loud, agonized bellows; his warped, yet perfectly forged face brimming with burning passion – that man and his silent shouts.

What was –

"Hey!" snap, snap, snap, his boney fingers sing and dance, "Focus, Worm. We have some very important things going on right now. Most importantly: you are in some serious trouble, young man. We all are. Fortunately for me, everyone here is capable of wiping their own ass. Unfortunately for me, you are not everyone. That means: stop trying to kill yourself. Got it?"

I nod.

"Are you sure? I don't want to find you being dragged here again by Mograine. Next time, you might not be so functional. In other words: dead."

Again, I nod.

"Good," dirt hugs pirouetting soles, "now follow me. " He begins gilding away as a specter does. I, of course, have little choice but to stay close – arm's reach of his shadow is my proverbial place in his pace.

The forest blurs and ripples past, a mere figment of imagination. Each and every rotted branch, wretched shaft, and warped base is wrought with a combination of death and the gentle whisper of the wind that licks at my cheeks. Caught upon the gust is a faint voice that burrows into my mind and –

"Worm," his words padded by the palm slammed into my chest. "Stay here."

I take a quick glimpse and open my mouth –

"No. Stay. Good Boy." At that, he hovers past what looks like a caravan, through a small gathering of people, and becomes a specter among the sights. Time itself seems to slow in his absence. Thankfully.

As much as I enjoy chasing after that man, I can take so much. I don't get why he is in such a rush all of the damn time. We don't have to arrive everywhere yesterday. Yes, I know he doesn't technically have to breathe, but I do! I –

 _You do know the current circumstances…right?_

Oh, sure. Come back just in time to defend him. I see how it is.

 _You know I will defend that bony cretin as firmly as the False King._

Yeah…well…sure….

 _You know I simply state the facts._

Yeah…well…fine.

 _You stand a strong stance, you do._

Don't make me ignore you again.

 _You don't have the choice if you wanted._

Yeah? Well. Whatever.

 _You –_

"Do you believe this nonsense?" A hammer-felled voice shatters my thin mental window. "We wouldn't be here if they got the act together." I turn, embracing a man coated in thick armor. A shield is hung upon his back, but it massive enough to catch my attention. "How long have we been waiting here now? Days? Weeks?"

I shrug.

"Bah. Of course you don't know! No one does!" He chuckles. "Not even these _leaders_ have a clue." A longing sigh escapes his lungs. "We could be home, right now. With our families, friends. But no. The King has us out _here_ wasting away in these dense, meaningless forests searching for nothing."

"Sure," I reply at what I believe is an opening in his ranting. "Home would be nice."

"Home?" A second man, this one burdened by warm-looking leather lunges to the first soldier's side. "My wife and kid are sick. My neighbor is sick. By the Titan's, my damn dog is sick! At least here I don't have to deal with that nonsense."

"Don't give me that," the first retorts with a hint of cynicism. "You live no more than a day's walk from here. A full trek across this entire damn continent for my sorry ass." Once again he chuckles. "Besides, at least your wife…" the man's somewhat cheery demeanor sours. A forlorn frown breaks his face, and his eyes drift towards the dirt, weeping dry, silent tears.

"Is your wife-?" Don't even finish that question, Hope. You know better. Say something else. Uh. Sympathetic! "I…I am sorry."

"I am sorry," following my lead, the leather-bound man reaches over and gives the other a pat on the shoulder. "I didn't mean…"

"No. It is fine." Shield isn't very convincing. "It. It is fine."

"We'll get that bastard. I swear," comforts leather. The two grow silent – as do I. I try to think of something to say. Of course, I have never been good at this sort of thing.

"Worm!" And a familiar jagged voice is thrown like a javelin. He, on the other hand, is good at _that_ sort of thing. "Get over here, Worm."

I sigh, turning from poor Shield and his woes. Once more, the delightful visage of an undead becomes my eyes. "Really, Nathanos?"

"'Really', what?"

I pause and sigh, "Nothing."

"Now that we have that figured out, what did I tell you?"

"What?"

"What were my orders?"

"Um…to stay put?"

"Did those orders include talking to trees?"

"...what?"

He glares at me momentarily before grabbing my arm. As we start rushing across the camp, he grumbles back at me, "Worm, you are lucky time is tight, or I would slap you so hard right now." At that, we focus on moving as quickly as we possibly can through the small collection of tents and carts.

Looks like some sort of gathering site to me. Not all that many able bodies wandering about, but the strange overabundance of skeletons and ghouls makes up for it. Wait. What?

"In here," his words are little when compared to the jerking command of his arm, "inside the little tent, little Worm." Darkness greets me as we slip into the not-as-little tent as I was expecting. It is tight, but spacious enough for a few well-armored figures covered in black plate.

My chest tightens as the gentle smile and red flowing hair fills my eyes. She mouths "hi" and I simply smirk back. There is something calming about those eyes, something…soothing.

"About damn time, Marris," but they are lost in the wake of _those_ fiery, piercing gems that guide my eye and force me to hang upon every ferocious spit syllable. "Were you taking your time, or were you trying to anger me?"

"Goldfish," he says instantly.

" _Goldfish,"_ those rubies glint solely for me. At a speed that Nathanos could only dream, she darts to my front, piercing my soul with her glare. I could see a man wither and rot in her presence; I could see a hero falter in their stead; I could see death itself twitch - especially with the snarled lip and murderous gleam her eyes to behold. I, however, simply melt. "If you tell me that I am beautiful, I am going to cut out your eyes."

I…uh…what do I do?

 _You just stand there?_

Yes! I will just stand – "You're…pretty…?" And out it comes, willingly or not.

 _You…must really hate your eyes._

It just slipped out! I swear! As if on cue, the sound of something else sliding from whence it belonged sings softly. "Hold still, you nuisance," she is quick with the blade, but even better with its handling. Hovering so close it nearly vanishes from my sight hums the finely crafted steel. "I'm feeling generous today, Goldfish." Stings of pain radiate from the back of my skull. A nice grip she has. There is no running from this. "I'll leave one for you."

I could see a man wither and rot in her presence; I could see a hero falter in their stead; I could see death itself twitch - especially with the snarled lip and murderous gleam her eyes behold. I, however – wait...wait! She is going to pop out my eye. She is going to pop out - !

"Sylvanus," cold metal caresses the corner of my tightly sealed orb. Uncomfortable, to say the least, but it would appear someone likes my eye more than I do. "Why are you wasting my time?" I remember that raspy, somewhat eerie bay. Is it that dark knight? I cannot tell. Rubies bless the entirety of my vision.

" _Your_ time, _Mograine_?" Heated words burn my cheek. I do not think they are aimed at me, but I cannot really tell. She is beginning to singe my soul with her sight. A few silent moments pass. No. That is a lie. They are arguing. I am just ignoring them.

It is hard not to given the circumstances. Such fire, such focused passion is funneled through a set of gems and concentrated into my being with the power of a thousand stars. Worse yet is the rather odd feeling that lingers were dread should stand. It…it is really odd.

 _You are odd._

I would normally argue with you, but you make a valid point. I am almost ashamed to admit it, but I am not as afraid as I should be.

 _You…do tell._

Well, even though she is shoving sharp metal rather unnervingly into my socket, and if she presses any harder, I am going to need an eye-patch, but…well…

 _You can spit it out._

We are nearly touching. Her body Is almost against mine. From here, I can taste the gentle aura of ice that radiates from her person. It is…amazing.

 _You better not say -!_

No. No. I know what you are thinking. Even I am smart enough to know how that ends. Besides, why ruin it now?


	14. Into the Forest

"Sylvanus," his ghastly voice does little to shake the resolve of the Lady. When she comes for an eye, she means to leave with an eye. "Are you finished yet?"

"Does it look like he is writing in agony, grasping at a hollowed socket?" Such firm, passionate words. They are almost as fiery as the leathery digits digging into my scalp or the blade jabbed into my face.

"No. It does not."

"Then stop asking stupid questions."

"Hmmm," he releases a slight growl from his gut. A long, somewhat odd pause follows. "Then answer me, 'what is taking you so damn long?'" His words are calm and controlled. Something she doesn't appreciate as much as I do. "If I didn't know any better," the raspy man continues, "you are enjoying this."

OK.

She didn't like that answer.

Not at all.

If she squeezes any harder, she is going to rip the scalp off my head. "Mograine, you may be right." Ow. OW. She is really, really upset. "Watching this fool squirm may be something I take pleasure in, but…" a ghost in all manifestations but tangible, the Dark Lady stirs, "…I'll enjoy this more!"

With motion beyond my reckoning, a scene is created. Painted perfectly before my perplexed perception, posed persons stand poised and positioned. An elegant banshee leans forward upon one slender leg, hand outreached, body curved around her completed movement– an alluring display of calculated follow-through. To my left, an undead man draped in black follows her pitch, his eyes piercing across the room. Both gazing at the knight in ghoulish armor.

Mograine stands with the utmost of confidence, yet displays not a trace upon his face. Calm, composed, emotionless, he stares unimpressed at the woman before him. His iron-like stance is unshaken, say for a single arm that is raised chest high. In his closed grasp protrudes the butt of a blade.

Completing the painting is a crippling silence that chokes the comfort clear from my body. It lingers for an eternity and ends in an instant. Metal whines at but a whisper. A dagger falls. Clash, the sound of thunder clatters from the bouncing blade. Silence chases the roar.

"Almost, Sylvanus," his arm returns to its rest – as natural as his firm face. "Almost –"

"Don't you mock me, _Knight_." Her words are faster than that weapon. "If I wanted to make your end complete, it would be done." They may be sharper too.

"Oh," but they bounce as harmlessly as the steel, "I will keep that in mind." A long, drawn pause. "Are you finished wasting time yet? Or must we continue to suffer?"

" _Me_ , ME? How dare you, _Mograine_. You should be thanking me!"

"Oh, here we go," from across the room, a voice drifts to me ear. My eyes catch Carlin's face the moment the regret washes over him. If I know anything about talking out loud at the worst moment, I know that face. "…great," he moans. I know that face too.

"Have something to say, Paladin?" The fiery gaze is redirected.

"I didn't…" Carlin sighs with the utmost of disappointment "…but I'm filling in for Hope, apparently."

He is so right.

"You sure said it, Old man," looks like Nathanos found his moment of opportunity. "You may have finally surpassed Worm in the idiot-races. Of course, that is a lifelong event, so there is still time."

"Really, Marris?" He almost seems disgusted. "I know dogs all bark by example but – " he pauses, catching himself mid-sentence. Again, I recognize that face! "Marvelous, Carlin. Marvelous." That Is definitely disgust now – self-loathing at its finest. Oh, the memories.

"Oh, Old man, you are truly unfortunate. You know that this dog's –"

"Yes, of course," Carlin clearly frustrated with himself, "your bite is worse than your bark. I know. Can we just skip this all?"

"Do not take a tone with my Commander, _Paladin_ ," and back to Sylvanus,

And so it begins. One person trumps the other. The other gets a little louder. The little louder turns into shouting. Shouting becomes table flipping and then someone loses an eye. Huh. Odd. That's a thought…

 _You have a spark there?_

Actually, yes. A funny one, really.

 _You must share._

Well, if you think about it, we almost skipped the entire process and went straight to the end there. All I had to do was let her pop out my eye and this could have been avoided.

 _You are forbidden from thinking_.

Fair enough. Though, now that I think about it, what am I supposed to think about if I am not allowed to think? Is this considered cheating? Or am I having a conversation with you?

 _You…_

Quite the riddle, huh? Sometimes even a fool has a moment of wisdom. Not that any of this is actually wisdom. More like a distraction. An escape from –

A chill shoots down my spine. Hairs are jerked to their roots. Something is here. I can feel it. Not in here. No. It is outside. Everything seems normal - same people, same carts, carriages, caravans, and care-free carriers. Everything – there. At the edge of the gathering, I see them.

From here, I can make out the heavy shield and faded leather armor. They are heading into the forest. Quickly. I will have to move fast to catch up with them. Mustering the haste of the man in black, everything becomes a blur.

Voices become distant chatter; chatter fades to murmurs; murmurs but whispers on the wind. Trees fly past me. They are moving fast – so fast. There are so many of them. Thick, rotted trees, covering everything, clouding everything. Suddenly, they are gone.

Before me looms not a forest, but a clearing. Within its epicenter, a lone figure stands, the tallest shape among a field of giants. Clad in thick leather, he stands over motionless mounds. One bears a heavy thick shield. Another draped in a delicate dress is cradled at his feet.

"It was what needed to be done…" ghoulish and ghastly, his voice echoes into the heavens. I should be afraid. I should be. "…you understand, don't you? It had to be done." Ice hangs upon every spilled word. Misery is frosted heavily upon every syllable. "How would you? How _can_ you?"

Pain strangles his voice. Agony clenches at his muscles. He stirs, and it is then I see a third mound. No. This one is standing. It is small, though. A child?

" _You,"_ rage incarnate burns the sorrow to ash, "look what you made me do!" The man turns towards me. A heavy beard hides any emotion, any expression his lips dare muster, but his eyes – his eyes. Paths of salt are charred upon his cheeks. Fire pours from his pupils. His passion directed towards me. "You are a damned monster!" A heavy axe is torn from his side, "he was your friend! And her," he chokes on his words, overwhelmed with emotion. His feet slow. His face is warped by pain.

"You knew what we were doing. This is why you did this, isn't. Isn't it!?" Angry rekindled. "You made me do this out of revenge!" Blade drawn, his wrath funneled. "Death is too good for you. I will make you SUFFER!" At a speed unmatched, the blade is hung and swung.

My eyes close. A surge of ice floods my veins. I wait eagerly for the death that has been stalking me, yet there is nothing. Only the crippling silence. Only the freezing, cold silence.

"Hope?" It is but a whisper. A faint whisper, but that voice…

My eyes tear open. An empty field is surrounded by endless, dead trees. Amid it all stands one man; amid it all is one voice. "Hope." I know that voice. I know that voice! It comes from everywhere. Among a field of ice and darkness, it is the beacon of light.

"Over here, Hope," where is she? Where is it coming from!

"This way," warm winds wash over me, "this way, Hope."

There. There! Trees fad into nothingness. Decaying branches snap and slap, thorns tickle my sides, death itself hugs closely, but I cannot be slowed. That voice…that voice cannot be real.

"You are so close, Hope."

It is a lie. It has to be.

"This way."

It has to be.

"Come to me, Hope."

It…there…I slow to crawl. As the soft, sweet serenade slips upon my ear and fades, the truth glides into sight. That dress, the long brown hair, and those eyes…this caring, comforting eyes. It has to be a lie…

"Come to me, Hope," I am weightless. I hover to the image, the clear, perfect image. "There." Warming hands fall upon my cheeks. Fingers run through my hair- a feeling unexplainable. It is exactly how I remember her. "You are home, my baby. My angel." That long brown hair, that calm and comforting voice, and those eyes…

"Mom?"


	15. Distractions

There are so many things I want to ask her, so many…questions. But I am stricken numb, my mouth wrought and dumb, nothing from it dare come. All I can muster in my mind is faltering – nothing to find but the sight that blinds. All I can comprehend is the visage and a pandering of the same wondering over and over and over:

How is this possible?

"Mom, mon?" Crackly and harsh, that…that voice is not what I was expecting. Even worse than before, my mind is sent into a spiral. I reach a hand towards the glowing face. Expectedly, it washes away, fading into the gray, dry air. In its wake, bluish green skin and a long, pointed nose hunch over me.

"Tok?" My voice is meek.

"Mon, mon!" The troll chuckles, exposing a set of sharp, yet polished teeth. "How ya been, mon? Last I saw ya, ya be fight'n da Death God!" Large tusks shake gently, matching the excited yet controlled movement of his arms. He gives me a pat on the shoulder, but I don't feel it. My mind is here, but is as if my body is still gone…with her. "Mon?"

What?

 _You didn't say that._

"What?" I shake my head. It feels like time itself is skipping. Tok's face tightens. His gaze narrows. Slowly, he leans in, examining my face with doctoral grace.

"Hmmm," he tilts his head to the side. "Mmmmhmmmm." His head tilts back, yet he his eyes stay focused on me. "Interesting, mon." I make to say something to sway the disarray, but another bay intercepts my attempts.

"Oye, Tok," this is deeper and rough. He has a strange accent I am not quite familiar with. "Do ye think the lad ate some of the mushrooms? Hoo – I know how I got when I gobbled some of those shrooms! Ha!" Long, delightful chuckles radiate from the stout figure that stumbles into view. Despite the large, orange bush that consumes his maw, jaw, and the rest of his upper chest, I can still make out a smile. "Oye, that was a wild ride. Wild. Ride."

"No, mon." Tok brushes him off, continuing his examination, "dis we something different."

"Oye," the small man gasps. My heart races only slightly as he pushes back his brown, leather hat, revealing more of his fiery mane – what's left of it, anyway. Nervously, he runs his palm of his bald patch and huffs. "Do ye think…the lad has a case…of the sober?"

"Mon…"

Once again, the small man chuckles, "Come on, Tok. We both know the dire effects of sobriety. Nine out of ten dwarves agree with the tale of the Ale Ail! Let's get some dwarven love into this chipmunk's cheeks, and he will be right as a winterveil powder."

Tok tosses me a mild look of annoyance. "Mon, da boy ain't be gett'n bettah by stuff'n liquor in his food hole."

"Careful now, Tok," the man – dwarf? – narrows his gaze. "It is one thing to brush aside a bad case of the shrooms, but casting aside dwarven cure-all? You are close to a threshold, troll. A threshold."

For a second time, Tok tosses me the same look. This time, however, he turns towards the dwarf, "No, mon. Ale ain't help'n him." His eyes fall back on to me. Severity clings upon his eyelids. "Dis be a case of da… _voodoo_."

"No!" the dwarf gasps.

"Yes, mon. Da Voodoo."

"Oye," hat removed, hand over scalp, huff, hat back on, "how long does the lad got?"

"Hmmmm," Tok gives my clearly concerned face a once over, "30-40…"

"Weeks? Minutes? Seconds?!" The dwarf interjects. My heart is running laps now.

"Years," silence chases the word. Years? Wait. What? As if on cue, the pair breaks out into hysterical laughter. My mouth opens, but it is clear – may face said all that needed saying. I really hate when it does that. I need to put a leash on it, or something.

Almost like I wish I could put a leash on these two. Honestly, I don't even know what is so funny. First, they show up uninvited then they get me worried about being ill – deathly ill. There is nothing funny about that. Well. Apparently there is. These two won't stop. I cannot be upset with the new addition, but Tok? That is just uncalled for. Stupid…troll…

"OK, OK," the dwarf inhales deeply, attempting to drown his dramatic cackling with air, "OK. No. No." His laughter intensifies. Unfortunately, Tok follows suit.

Really?

It was bearable, but this is getting ridiculous. "Guys," looks like my mouth is function again, "come on. It wasn't that funny."

"Oye," the only sound that is made outside of chuckling. It was an attempt, I give him that. Weak. But an attempt. "OK. OK. Phew." Again, a cascade of calm air comes crushing at his chuckling. "OK. I am set, lad. I. Am. Set." Looks like it worked this try. "You have to admit: that was funny, lad."

No. It wasn't.

 _You didn't say –_

I know I didn't say it.

"Well. I guess you had to see your face," the dwarf snorts, "But ye be a good sport, lad." He throws his tiny mitt at my arm and –ow. For such a small man, he is rather strong. Unnecessarily strong. Stranger still is the sudden shocked expression that sweeps his brow. "Paint me green and call me a goblin, how rude of me," the dwarf flips his hat – rather skillfully – into his palm and reaches out a large paw, "the name is Brann Bronzebeard."

"Hope Blackwood," I take hold of his hand. Correction: I stick my hand into a bear trap. While I am accustomed to Nathanos' crippling grip, this is something entirely different. I try my damnedest to squeeze back, but I believe his arm might be made out of iron.

"Ha," the dwarf – Brann. Brann gives my entire arm a good shake and decides to reinforce his metallic vice with his other hand. "Got a hearty handshake there, lad. Ha! Most humans cannot muster a worthy shake, but ye done good, lad!"

"I've had practice," I have never tried so hard in my life to utter a composed sentence in my life. Part of me wants that dagger back in my eye.

"Oye! Strangely warm to boot. Hmmmm," he looks confused, "that tingly feeling there lad is making ol'Brann question his loyalties a wee bit." What? Oh, for the love of the Lady, the pressure is quelled. Yes, all feeling as fled my hand, but it is free. I think he may have invented bones just to break them. "Hope. Yes, Tok here mentioned that name," he continues, spinning his large hat back onto his shiny noggin, "quite impressive silent reputation ye got there, kiddo."

"I know. I don't talk much."

He pauses. "Ha!" Again, he slams his small boulder into my arm, "got some good humor in ye, lad. I like that."

"Mon," Tok interjects, "wat da Beard be say'n is, 'ya got a shadow of story follow'n ya, but nobody be talk'n bout it."

Oh. OK. I guess that makes sense.

 _You are talked about but no one knows who the hell you are._

Ohhhhh, that makes more sense.

 _You still have no idea what we are talking about, do you?_

Maybe.

"Oye," Brann nods, confirming whatever it is he Is thinking, "I heard that the Lich King was stomping about, but I never pictured…you." He pauses. "No offense, Lad. You just don't strike me as a baddie. Such a soft face doesn't tickle ol'Brann as so."

"No offense taken," none at all, really.

"Oye," he shakes his head, "I guess the Prince never really had that murdery-face either, but that lad sure showed us, didn't he?" With a heavy sigh, he glances at the dirt. For a moment, he continues to stare before whipping his tiny yes back at me. "What is more perplexing, lad, is how this conversation is happening."

"Wat, mon?" Good question, Tok.

"Think about it, Troll: how are we even having this little chat?" Tok merely cocks an eyebrow. "From what I heard," Brann continues, "the boy wore the crown, right? _The_ crown. So how in the blazing fiery damnation of the Molten Core is the lad standing here, crushing ol'Brann's hand, chatting about nothing in the middle of nowhere, hmmm?"

Another…good…question?

"Aye, mon," Tok shrugs his shoulders, "got me, mon. Be a good question; though, Hope'ere be a strong lad of both de mind and da body. Got some tricks up dem sleeves, he do."

"Oye," Brann opens his mouth, but silence spills out. His gaze narrows upon me. Beady eyes burrow deeper and deeper into my soul. He is looking for something. "How many tricks do ye got up them sleeves, kiddo?"

I –

"No time to waste, Tok," Brann suddenly spins, scampering hurriedly through the forest. "Mograine wanted us to meet him and this has to be why!" His voice chases his tiny, shrinking frame.

"Mon! We got'ta wait for the Deathy, mon!" Tok sighs. "Great, mon. Ya gone and stirred his curiosity. Now only death gonna stop the damn bastard." With heavy legs, Tok begins to chase. "Come on, Hope. We ain't gonna stop him now."

Normally, I would question them, but this has pretty much been the battle-strategy for the rest of the day, so why not? And so off I go, chasing after a new set of legs. To my delight, they are nowhere as swift as Nathanos' – not that I would expect or ever want that. One Nathanos is enough.

We travel for a short distance before the small man begins to slow, "Oye," he stops, panting heavily, "dwarves aren't good at long distance running, lad." Deep, steady breathes. "We are more or short-distanced sprinters." Slower, more controlled, he carries on. After a moment, he slaps his legs, huffs in excitement, and begins to hurriedly walk. "Not much further, lad!"

"Brann," might as well get this over with, "where are we going?"

"Well," he speaks between huffs, "I have some friends, down the way, lad. Big ones. Not your normal type. Met them, awhile, back. You'll like them, but they are, different."

"Different? I like different."

"Good! I just hope ye like 'six-legs, pinchy claws, and snappy teeth' different."

"Six-legs?" What does he mean, 'six-legs'?

"Oye! Bugs, lads. They be bugs!"

"Oh…" bugs?! Great. I hate bugs.


	16. Long Past

"Oye," Brann huffs and puffs, "oye, this is a lot further than I thought." The once mighty speed that drove him has slowly tapered to a gentle trot. I don't feel like we had run all that far. Maybe it has something to do with his height. Would shorter distances be longer for him?

 _You are full of meaningless thinking, aren't you?_

It is just a thought, is all. Doesn't seem that farfetched, really. He has shorter legs and in turn meaning he has to take more steps to make up one of mine. Wouldn't that theoretically imply that it would require more energy in essence making the distance seem relatively longer?

 _You…put entirely way too much thought into this._

Makes sense, doesn't it?

 _You should probably focus your energy elsewhere, to be honest._

Oh. I think you are just upset I conjured something that you couldn't counter.

 _You really, really should pay attention –_

Hey now! Don't you dare try – "Oof," an odd grunt escapes my lips precisely as my face finds the hard, scratchy bark. As I stumble, the rude, multi-armed jerk stands tall and unimpressed by my attempts to uproot him. That actually hurt.

 _You were warned._

Don't you even start –

"Trees, mon," the troll drags his three digits across the thick, brown skin, giving the tall and rotting figure a stern yet admiring stare, "they do sneak up on ya. Clever girls." With his head cocked upwards, he shifts only his eyes at me – a sly smirk slid smugly across his exposed fangs.

"Thanks, Tok," I say with a sigh, accepting my fate. An odd pressure builds in the side of my forehead, and I cannot help but wince. "You truly know how to make a mon…man…feel better."

"No problem, mon!" He retorts, playfully slapping my shoulder and heading towards the stout hat that pokes its top through the shrubs a short distance away. "Dwarves, mon: they be gud short-distanced runn'ahs, but give'em more den 100 yards and dey be down like a one-legged'rappy!" He chuckles loudly.

I have no idea what that is supposed to mean. All it does is make my head hurt worse, but that really isn't all that surprising.

"Let's catch the tiny runn'ah, aye mon?" Tok takes off at a troll's pace – fast, but not Nathanos fast, yet more than a tired dwarf slow. "Ay, mon! Where yah headed, mon? Dem pinchy faces be dat way, bruddah." A long arm hangs a heavy robe, exposing one long lanky compass that points towards a different north.

"Oye, Tok," Brann turns and retorts, "that there is their back door, lad. Ye just do'any go'n a man's back door. That's rude, lad."

"Mon," Tok's face flattens – as much as a troll's can. "We ain'got time ta go hunting from dem front entrance. Besides, we be bruddahs, mon. Dey won'have a problem –"

"Quit yer snout, troll!" Brann grunts. "These insectiods do'any trust any fool that comes stomp'n about. Takes time. Ye have te be gentle, Tok. Gentle." He lowers his voice to a whisper and fans his hands across an invisible object. " _Gentle."_

"Fang rot, ya tiny runt!" Tok snorts in return. "If dey gottah problem, den dey can let us know when we killed da King. Until den, we ain'got the time."

"Listen your face good, troll," Brann cups a hip while waving a finger at the troll, "I spent a lot of time wit these lads. Took me a lot of time to make them trust me. I do'any need a damn long-nosed, funny-skinned, overly stretched troll to ruin it all. So –"

"Who ya call'n 'over-stretched', ye compact toad!"

"'Compact'?!" Brann takes a step forward, rocks formed at the end of his wrists. "Watch yer words, _troll_ , or no one is going to see the bugs!"

"Ya be'n stubborn, ya bastard!" Tok counters with a rattle of his staff. Strangely, with each clang of the tiny decorations and clatter of the bones, a throb pangs down my skull. Unpleasant. "Stop delay'n! Ya start'n to make me believe ya don't even know where the damn hole is!"

"What?!" Brann gasps in shock – a jolt of pain for me as well. "How dare ye!"

I glance over at Tok, and wait rather impatiently for him to reply. This really is starting to get annoying. I have no idea why they are fighting, but it is getting old. They need to get over themselves and –

 _Hope_.

That voice…its call is medicine to my pained mind...

 _Hope, my angel._

She is here. I spin towards the source of her gentle song. I know she is.

 _Hope. This way. My love._

Trees whip past me, my legs moving uncontrollably. Each one is shapeless – they are but blurs to my determination. There are so many. They bump; they jab; they try to stop me, but her voice. She is close…

 _Hope._

How can her sweet melody claw so firmly at my ear, yet her person not bear? How?

 _Hope._

"Mom." My voice plunges into the forest. "Mom!" The trees devour the word. "MOM-!" Breaking before me, the forest appears parted by my bay. Tall, dark trees looms solemnly, their silent word dumbfounding in all regards. Scattered among their barky feet are what appear to be broken blocks of stone – buildings. Ruins.

There are dozens of hollowed frames, each one empty and filled with the everlasting yearn of the earth. I take a step forward, stopping briefly as my foot meets a firm ground. Once fit and proper, now rest tattered and scattered bricks. Grass wedges itself between their tight gaps and fills where perfect spacing once rested.

It is wide path that runs straight ahead. My eyes follow it, chasing the ride, catching the calm and crashed remains of the many buildings that now lie under the trees' shade. The carved path splits briefly, circling outwards to encompass a fountain that now pours dried leaves and hungering vines from its cracked wounds. The path folds out four ways from the parched fount: one route west, one east, one south towards me, and one north towards the shadowed remains of a large structure.

I slowly make my way towards the looming structure. Its archway holds just above the fountain, beckoning me with its wooden maw. Its belly stretches to the sides while a long neck leads to a face that has long been smashed out.

 _You can tell it is forever 1 pm._

Yes. A single hand that remains…

"They have broken the through the west gate!" The pounding of feet chase the calm-shattering cry. "Get everyone able there. NOW! We must hold until the Prince returns. We must hold!" A dozen soldiers, clad in gray, dart into view. They rush with all haste. One, however, glances at me. He slows, eying my person profusely.

"What are you waiting for?" His voice is stern, yet beneath its tenacity looms a hint of panic. "Come on! Move your ass!" The words nip at his heels, his bravado clinging desperately to his trail. It and the entirety of the pack vanish into nothingness.

"Stop, girl!" A man bellows from behind. Before I can turn, a small person armored head to toe shoots into my peripheral, only to be grabbed by a large fist. "Stop!" Woeful concern strangles the man's voice, dread claws at his eyes, fear hangs upon his lip. "Sto –"

"I have to help them!" She is so small. A child. Her sword far too large. Her shield far too heavy. "Didn't you hear?! They need us!"

"You are not strong enough. You –"

"Then _you_ go!" The young warrior's voice chimes across the remains. Only silence replies. "But you are too scared. If have always been scared." Weak and broken, the tiny soldier darts from the man's grip, hurriedly rushing towards the crumpled gate that has long been destroyed.

"She is right, you know," my eyes lock on the man. His gaze is impaled in spot where she once stood. "I am afraid. I…I am a coward. And I failed her." Eyes filled with sorrow, wrought with torment and regret, lock with mine. I can almost taste his woe. "Do you think she will ever forgive me?"

But there is no time for me to reply. He fades, disappearing in the wake of his long lost words.

"Mister," a gentle voice nips at my side. Standing there, at a knee-height, is a rather curious-looking boy. "Are you here scare the ice monsters away? It is so cold. I am so tired of being cold." A smile forms on his face. "Mother said we would warm one day. She promised! She-"

"Leave him alone, Timothy," a woman darts from the nearby house, scooping the boy into her dress and tugging him with longing eyes back towards the door. She makes every effort to keep her eyes down – I can feel it. She tries, but her will falters and for a brief, unbelievably long moment, she gazes into my eyes. Her face, to my surprise, holds the same morbid curiosity of the boy's, but with it hangs a sense of despair, of a long forgotten hope.

"I did return, you know," sitting on the rim of the fountain, hunched forward with a large sword resting at his side, is a long-haired man draped in a finely decorated armor. "They waited so long, but I did finally return. And they were the first to be _saved._ " He releases a scoff and shakes head in disappointment. "At the time, it felt like the right thing – they were sick, all of them. Like Stratholme, they needed to be freed! They needed peace! They needed…"

He stands, taking a few strides towards me. "He spoke to me too, you know. He told me how I could save them. I could fulfill my destiny!" Once more he laughs, this time a sense of encouragement holds loosely to his words. "I could save my people. " Angry becomes him. "I wasn't saving _my people_. The monster gave me promises, he gave me what I wanted to see, he gave me my _justice._ " With a few more steps, the tall, commanding man stops short of me.

"I always thought he had tricked me, that I had been robbed, but in the end, it was all a lie." His eyes dig into my very soul. "He didn't trick me, he didn't break me, he simply gave me an option…and I took it. Just like you will: _Prince to the Throne._ "

"Hope," a voice, that unforgettable song, sings for my ear. "Do not listen to him!"

"Mother…"

"Hope, you are stronger than that," she glides to my side. She is a glowing beacon among a field of death. She takes my hand…she is so cold. "You must be stronger. You have to be."

"Mother, I…" I don't know what to say. There are so many questions I want to ask her. There is so much I want to hear. Yet in the end, I cannot say a single word. Her presence is all I need.

"I know, my child." She grips my hand with her icy tendrils, squeezing with ghastly strength. "You are my boy," a marvelous smile becomes her face. It is warming where all else falters. "You are my angel. You- " unexpectedly, the smile runs from her face, chased by a growing gleam of overwhelming fear, "Hope. Run."

"He is here…" the man at my side states firmly. Anger tightens upon his face as he twists turns the large, gaping maw.

"Hope. Run! Ru –" she vanishes, her frightened eyes lingering for but a moment. A long wisp of air flees from where she just ran, and I grab for it, desperately reaching for it to return. My eyes hunt the thin trail, tracing until my once warmed heart fills with anger and hate.

"They are mine now, my boy." His voice is scratchy and dark, sucking the warmth from the heavens. Chilled waves crash against my body – the very air frozen in his wake. My eyes fall upon the darkened figure that looms in the doorway of the large structure. "They are _ours_ now."


	17. Dreams and Nightmares

The same thick armor holds upon his person, yet it is different. Once meek runes now burn brighter on its service, masking any man-made decorations. Under the plated veil are the ever-burning embers that only demons would dare call eyes. "Looking well as always, Hope." As he speaks, his jaw breaks away - the chattering, charred visage of a skeleton. From his boney black mouth drips a strange, ebony fluid that dissipates as if gaseous in nature.

"You look terrible," I grumble.

"Ha!" Boots thunder his approach. "Yes, well, this war is quite tiring. If only I had someone that could take over for these old, achy bones." A playful tone hangs upon his dark, crackling voice. It doesn't sound natural in the slightest. "I had someone in mind, actually." He draws close, trotting calmly and confidently to the edge of the fountain. He stops short, scratching the jawbone deep in thought. Burning blue members stab at my soul. "Do you think he would be willing to accept?"

He doesn't have any lips, but like Nathanos, I can see the grin on his void and expressionless face. "I'm going end your suffering. Don't you worry," I growl at him.

"Oh," he scoffs, "dear me. It sounds like that is a 'yes'!" Dry and long, his cackles mimic crackling bone and hissing air.

I don't say a word.

"Oh, you should really relax, Hope," the figure circles to my side –my eye firmly on him and the blade at his hip. "If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead." He chuckles again. "Cliché, I know, but it is remarkable how those words just slip out."

Metal boots grind the stone as he pivots. Slowly, he reaches for his sword. Slowly, I reach for my spade. "You seem a little tense, my boy." Bent wood and dried leather groan and moan as the sword is swung from its home. The face glimmers, the runes singing a silent song. Clank, the tip stabs at the brick. "Just need something to rest on. Like I said, 'I am quite worn'." With those words, he leans both hands and his weight upon the impaled instrument of destruction.

Heavy gloves drive into the butt and curl down towards the hand guard. They point at the detailed craftsmanship of the ghoulish skull that binds the blade to the hilt. The eyes, burning with the same demonic as its wielder, peer unblinking into my soul –

"Pummel and Cross-guard," his words are flat.

"What?"

"My hands are resting on the pummel and skull is part of the cross-guard," following after his words is a profound silence. Suddenly, he laughs, "I'm messing with you. I have no idea what I am talking about. You just seemed so fascinated I couldn't help but –"

"Shut up," I snarl.

"My word -"

"You didn't come here to educate me on weaponry. You didn't come to kill me. What sick game are you playing?" My heart is racing. "Tell me what you want!" Unnatural rage flutters in my chest. "Tell me, you monster!"

His head tilts back. Piercing eyes send chills down my spine. "Fine," his words release fast, yet -. Blurs, shifting wind clashes at my cheek. Stillness. A striking pose struck. I didn't see him move. Yet there he stands – blade slashed and hung. A gentle warmth pools on the side of my cheek. As if compelled, I reach up. Fingers pass an agape jaw and falter at the fluid – blood.

"You are blind, my boy," his words are empty, hollow, yet are heavy and unbearable. With them, my head grows light. I can barely stand. "It pains me to see you so lost." As his words vanish into nothingness, my mind spins and twirls. I grip at my eyes – they shut, only darkness remains. "Let me show you the way." His voice is a gunshot, a roar swiftly dispatched by silence. Then all is still.

I draw back my hands and carefully embrace the sudden reprieve. I scan my surroundings with the utmost of intensity. The buildings, the ruins, the fountain, and the King upon his blade: they are all as they were.

"He is so handsome," a soft voice catches me from behind, "when do you think it will happen?"

"When what will?" A second feminine call strikes me as I turn. Sitting around a table, a triplet of young women sit and talk. Each one is more attractive than the other – I even find myself running circles around the three. As I make another lap, I found myself finally stop on one.

"Get married," the first one mutters as she takes a sip of tea. In unison, she and another begin snickering while the third attempts to vanish behind her cup. My eyes lock upon her – the same one that snagged my eye. She has long, flowing blonde hair, pale skin that elegant as soft satin, supple red lips, and eyes…eyes that draw envy from the ocean's deep blue waves.

"Yes?" Those eyes now fall upon me. "May I help you?"

All of their eyes are upon me. Great. Not sure how this happened, but here I am. I figure I should say something. Can they even hear me? Well. They can see me, so I have to assume yes. Great. Now I am just standing here awkwardly. I should say something. I should –

"You're pretty."

Silence.

Immediately, laughter fills the air. As before, the two cackle their mocking sirens. Heat pools upon my cheeks and the hairs on my neck attempt to desperately flee. My eyes dance nervously in their sockets, hunting for anything that may give me an escape – anything. Oddly, I am surprised by what catches my attention.

Two pools of blue, endless as the ocean, yet defined with such concise perfection. They are mesmerizing. They are sapphires, shaped and smoothed with a glorious glimmer. She stares at me, straight faced. Minutes, hours, days, time seems so meaningless looking into those gems. Then, as her image begins to fade, I believe a slight smirk dances upon her lips.

 _You must not heed these illusions! You must resist them!_

I know. I…know. But they seem so real. I…I must. But…

 _You must leave._

I know. But where do I go. What do I do? What –

 _You must listen to your mother's words; if only a show, they speak the truth._

Yes. Yes. This is just one of his games. He is trying to trick me. He –

"Hope," a familiar twang snags my attention. "Hope, it is me!" I am sucked in by the words, drawn to face the pale figure standing with a firm smile on his face.

"Jon," I whisper. I give the man a look over – he is exactly how I recall him. How is he here? He should be back in Orgrimmar, resting. He – oh no. "John," my throat is tense. "What are you doing here?" I ask the question I do not want the answer to.

"You don't remember, Hope?" Calm words are masked by the stubborn glee smothered across his face. "I died."

No. No. Another question I should not know. "How?"

"How…?" The smile falters. "Hope…" a sense of pain radiates from the one meekly muttered word. "Do you not remember?"

"Of course he doesn't," the vile King's words reek of delight. I can almost taste the smile on his void, expressionless face. "Tell him, Jon. _Tell him_."

Jon's face tightens. A once joyful demeanor is devoured by a quiver of a lip and trembling muscles. His mouth opens, but he hesitates. The image of the man begins to vanish. He wants to tell me, I can see it in his eyes, but he cannot. Instead he dissipates, forming a hazy cloud of what he once was.

"Jon," I cry, reaching a hand toward the mist. To my dismay, my hand strikes something solid. A dreadful chill ripples down my arm. It snatches at my spine. It freezes my mind. The cloud dissolves. In its wake, a figure born in thick, black armor peers at me. Gentle blue flames flicker in the core of his pupils. "You killed me."

Freezing iron grips at my throat. I am lifted effortlessly. "YOU KILLED ME!" Hatred is bellowed from his lungs. Rage is exerted in his arms. Air rushes past. Aged beams snap. Thud dull pain flutters and fades. I drag myself to my feet. Debris rolls from my person.

Jon stands at the entrance of the destroyed home. He peers in, glowering with overwhelming disgust. "Jon," I cough as dust wafts down, "Jon, stop. Don't –"

"Begging," he hisses, "don't remember that either, do you? Pleading with you as you crashed through those gates. _Begging_ for you stop." A large sword is raised. Runes flicker on the surface. "But you wouldn't would you?" Black flames dance across the surface. "It only seems fair to repay your kindness, _my brother_."

A sphere is jettisoned forth. I raise my shovel desperately. Icy air crashes, an explosion shakes, the world trembles. The ground itself falters. Downward I plunge, flailing futilely until solid earth greets my back.

I glance up at the hole. Dull light floods in, filling the once forgotten cavern. I stand only to flinch as the hairs on my neck stand on end. With the light come the eyes of dozens, no, hundreds of onlookers. They are ghastly, silent, watching. And they all stare at one man draped in shadow.

"You killed me, Hope!" Metal slams against stone. "You killed me!" Iron grinds. Thuds screech. Steel hums. I leap, dodging the thrown blade. "We were to fight the Scourge!" Again he swings. Clank, steel smacks wood. His blade saws at my spade. His strength bears down. In his eyes, his loathing fumes. "We were to fight for the light! We were brothers, Hope!"

Oof, the air is knocked from my chest. I fall. I smack rocks, bouncing, rolling, spinning. Further and further I plunge, for an eternity.

"You failed me, Hope!" Angered words chase.

Further and further down until smacking flesh stalls my descent. Numb and broken, I cannot move.

"You failed me!"

I peer up, the black tendrils creeping in. Glaring back is a man, hatred his truest weapon. Around him, dozens, no, hundreds of ghastly eyes stare silently, watching. At the end of the tunnel is a single source of a light bleeding in as the shadows crawl across my mind. Silhouetted in the rays is a small figure leaning on a gleaming sword. A pair of burning embers flickers like distant, dancing stars. I can almost taste the smile on his void and expressionless face.


	18. Pick a Cave, Any Cave

"Wake up," a gentle voice is accompanied by a not-so-gentle jab at my chest. "Come on, wake up already." The sweet whimpers are quiet. It is almost as if she isn't necessarily speaking to me. "Will you seriously wake up?" Either way, she is frustrated. Very frustrated.

"Meh," stumbles out of my lips. It is almost a word.

"So you are awake?"

"Eh." I'm not sure how I managed to say less.

"Get up. I've been waiting for what feels like a damn eternity already," Again, agitation accrues upon her utterance.

"What time is it?" Finally. A sentence.

"Time for you stop asking stupid questions and get up!" With a force matching, she stabs at my shoulder.

"Ouch," I whimper.

"Stop crying," she expresses no mercy. "That didn't hurt. Now get up!"

"Fine," at last, I surrender to the will of the woman, "what is it?" Heavy lids slide open, revealing the gleaming smile of an angel – the same one that ushered the welcoming grin at the table of three.

"He did it," she bleats gleefully.

"He did _what_?"

"IT!"

I sigh. "Woman, it is way too early to be playing guessing games right now. What did _he_ do?"

Piercing eyes thrust at my very essence. Her stern eyes and flat face send a chill down my spine and an unseen hand clutches at my chest. She hesitates, caging her fury. "You're lucky I'm in such a good mood; otherwise, I'd punch that stupid face of yours. Hard." Before I can process that, she flings a hand, backside up, in front of my face. It hovers for a moment before the fingers ripple. What is she doing? Is she trying to show me something? Oh. Something shiny. Is that it?

"A ring?"

"Yes!" She almost explodes with excitement." The ring! The damn ring!"

"Oh," I don't get – oh. OH. "He gave you the ring?!"

"Yes!"

"As in _the_ ring!"

"Yes. YES!"

"That…that is amazing!" I shout, her bubbling giddiness overcoming me. A torrent of emotion floods my body as she wraps her arms around me, squeezing with a lust for a life almost unseen beyond a child. After a painfully short grasp, she releases, bouncing, rapidly firing off ramblings. Her voice fades as her very person mutes reality.

Every movement of her face, every sleight of person, everything about her is mesmerizing. I don't recall seeing her before this moment, but a comfort exists that spells out an entire lifetime of accompaniment. The feeling is unreal – to be so relaxed, so open around another to let down all guards, to expose all weaknesses, to reveal all vulnerabilities. She is happy. And it makes me happy. Yet…

"It is amazing! AH!" She is so happy. And I should be. "I cannot believe it took so long!" Her eyes, those endless pools of deep, calming blue, lock with mine. There is so much excitement in them. She is so, very happy. And…I…am not. "What is it?" Her expression falters, the smile withering as I drain the happiness from her. "Are you alright?"

No.

"Yes." I clear my throat. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Do not lie to me," a firm, commanding call that shakes any attempts at deceit I dare muster, "what it is?"

As I look at this woman that I know I just met, I cannot help but feel as if a million eons have passed between us. There is a connection, a bond I didn't know possible. And as I sit, gazing in those endless pools of deep, calming blue, it seems surreal. All of it.

"Please," her words oscillate, almost as if pleading, "tell me."

I…I don't know if I can. She was so happy…

"Please."

"I love you," it takes my entirety to utter those words, yet they flow so easily, like water through a burst dam. Millions of eons of pressure are released. A weight lifted, but a new burden to bear: the response.

If a ghost could grow pale, it would wear the face of the shocked woman. Not word is sputtered from her slacked jaw; not a single sound emitted; not a peep, yet I can almost hear her reaction. Her face, her beautiful face tells me the story I want her. Truth or not, I desperately assume so. It must be…

As I wait, watching the quivering lips and the eyes that peer into my very soul, she begins to fade. And as I wait, lost in her endless pools, her outline is devoured by darkness. And I wait, and wait, and wait until nothing remains but the memory.

A dreadful chill becomes me, and I am dragged back to the dreary, bleak cave. The only source of light weakly trickles in from the gaping wound above. My heart pulses and I jump to my feet. Where is he? Where are _they_? They have to be here?

I spin, hunting for the men that plague me so. That monster has to be around here. And Jon. Jon…he has to be waiting. There was so much hate…

Even now, as adrenaline grips at my body and numbs the flesh, my essence can taste his fury, his passion. The man radiated hatred. He _bled_ it from unseen sores. _His_ fury matched only by _her_ happiness…

 _You know they are lies._

But I saw him! He stood before me. Those eyes were filled with unmatched rage. That voice tore at the very air. He was there! And she…she…

 _You must not fall for his tricks._

Tricks? They…they are not tricks…they…

 _You know exactly what they are. You are stronger than this. You know you are._

Yes. Yes! I sigh a heavy sigh. "Yes!" Oops. My nervous eyes dart nervously in the wake of continuous echo.

 _You are, however, very real…and still very dense._

I deserve that.

 _You sure do._

Well, mister judgement, now that you have that pinned: what next? Do you want me to believe that we aren't in some sort of dark cave at the bottom of some very deep hole?

 _You are very much trapped at the bottom of the proverbial well._

The what?

 _You…you hurt me sometimes._

Shush you. Now tell me what I should do.

 _You are demanding, aren't you? You also need to let me know how I am supposed to give you this miraculous advice while shushing._

Smartass, huh?

 _You deal with only the best._

Fine. Tell me what I am supposed to do.

 _You should be nicer._

Really? Fine. Whatever. Tell me what to do. Please.

Silence.

Is this – really? Are you going to throw a temper tantrum now? While we are trapped in some sort or proverb well? I still don't even know what that means.

Silence.

Ok. Ok. If you are going to be a baby – I don't need you. I'll figure this out on my own. Ok. Hope, look around you. What do you see? There is the clearing above. Yes. Got it. To my sides are dark passages. Lot of dark, really uncomfortable looking passages. I should pick one.

That one looks…less…dark.

But that one has some cave spikes.

Oh, but that one is larger.

Decisions, decisions. As I gawk at each route, an unpleasant tingle travels my back. Muscles contract in its wake; bones ice in its presence; blood freezes – my entire body shivers. That one. It doesn't matter. That one.

"Help," faintly a cry this way comes.

It sounded like it came from that path. I think. Or was it that one?

"Help," just above a whisper, but loud enough to tickle my ear.

That way. Yes. I take a few steps forward and, "Help me, please". It is definitely louder. Onward I continue, only to find my feet faltering to the unseen forces. It is getting too dark to see. "Help." But it is so close now. All I have to do –

Thud, the hard stone ground greets the soft side of my skull. That hurt. With a sigh, I roll to my back, sit up, and draw my shovel to my front. A flicker follows my deep focus. The once dire straits flood with the illuminated glow. My eyes adjust, only to find my chest gripped by dread.

I tripped…over a body.

What is it? Red skin, long body, thick legs, something my mind cannot comprehend. Panic creeps beside me, comforting me the best it can. It only becomes stronger as I turn, embracing the field of lifeless mounds.

"Help me," I want to. Panic helps me to my feet. I want to so badly. What where are you? Which way do I go? Panic heralds me from whence I came, but…but that isn't right. "Help," it sounds close! Run, Hope. Just run!

So I run, striding side-by-side with my fine friend Panic. We head headlong in a heedless huff. There is no care in our course. There is no pattern in our path. We run. And run. "Help," it is here! Right here! I spin, Panic pointing at the countless bodies. Why show me that? Why?!

"Help," here. It is right here! Why can't see it!? Why – there. At my feet, no bigger than my fist, is a small white rock. Thick, dark spots dance across the surface, giving a unique pattern to it. With its presence, Panic cowers in the wake of Curiosity, my oldest companion.

What is that?

As if compelled, I stoop among the rancid cave. The pool of crimson at my feet would send the normal man fleeing, but not I – not with my old companion at my side. Not – "help!" It comes….it comes from the rock. "I'm trapped!"

My hands lift the rock to my face. It is heavy, but in an oblong sort of way. Much of the weight seems to fall in my hand. Light seems to penetrate the upper half and reveal a shadowy shape within. "I'm trapped!" Suddenly, the rock shakes. It grows still. "Help!" It shakes. Still. Swiftly yet softly I raise the shovel. Tap, the rock cracks. Tap, the upper portion splinters. Tap, it crumbles. Tap, this time, the rock walls push outward.

A tiny object appears and then quickly disappears. Again, the object thrusts, this time crashing through. A long, thick snout snorts a plethora of matter outward while tiny, yet pointy teeth nibble at the rock walls. Two, thin arms extend forth, collapsing the cage entirely.

The small scaly creature slowly frees itself, breathing in the fresh air and adjusting its large eyes. Those same eyes that lock with mine. It blinks, once, twice. "Hi!" it cries, followed by a high-pitched, delighted squeal.


End file.
